To Belong
by Taiora Freak
Summary: What does it mean to have a family? To be part of a team and not to be alone? After 300 years of isolation, the word "family" is finally a tangible thing and not just letters in a book for Jack Frost. A collection of one-shots about what being a family is all about and the struggle it takes to become one.
1. Hugged

**AN: [Pops out from behind a houseplant]**

 **I know I promised to update 'Comfort in a Snowstrom' like forever ago, but this little ficlet won't leave my brain alone. I'm in love with Rise of the Guardians. It's an amazing film based on an incredible idea. There so much angst and fluff to be written! (Smiles evilly). So, here's the first chapter of my first one-shot collection (and first update in over a year). I would love to hear your thoughts, so please review! And if you have any suggestions or request just tell me ;).**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter One: Hugged**

"Jack!"

He turned around at Jamie's call, not expecting to see the boy running towards him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still and he couldn't tear his eyes from his first believer. Fear made his heart thump painfully loud, his pulse beating in his ears.

Jamie _believed_ in him.

He could _touch_ Jamie. Had touched him only moments before.

It was real. _He_ was real. Yet he was so afraid, terrified, that it was all a fluke, a one-time thing, and he wasn't ready to face that possibility so soon after _finally_ being seen.

He didn't want Jamie to run through him.

It would break him. He was just slowly getting used to attention, companionship and conversations with someone other than himself. To finally be seen _and_ believed. He didn't want to be invisible any longer.

He wanted to jump back, sidestep, anything to prevent his first believer from passing through him. Before his muscle could as much as twitch, time returned to normal and Jamie had reached him. His body moved on its own, taking a small step back, but not out of reach for thin, pajama-clad arms to encircle his waist. A small, startled gasp left lightly blue-tinted lips as Jack stood frozen, arms away from his body and cerulean eyes wide with surprise. The hand holding his staff, clutched the shepherd's crook in a vice like grip, the other hovered awkwardly above the brown head, fingers erect. Azure orbs widened even more and he struggled to breathe, short, sharp breaths of air audibly left his mouth, chest visually rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.

His mind was racing, trying desperately to comprehend what'd happened.

Someone was _hugging_ him.

 _Jamie_ was _hugging_ him.

The same foreign, overwhelming feeling of sheer and utter incredulousness, amazement and exhilarating euphoria he only hours before had felt back in Jamie's room when the boy had admitted to both hear and see him, coursed through his body, setting every nerve on fire with pure happiness.

It took tremendous effort to rip himself from his thoughts and unfreeze his rigid body. His breath hitched again, but this time he exhaled loudly, shoulders visibly slumping. For a second, he struggled against tears, cerulean eyes wide and mist. His face was an open book of raw, undisguised emotions: vulnerable, disbelief, shock, joy, melancholy yet overjoyed, mournful, forlorn yet happy. 300 years was a long time without touch.

Oh, how he _missed_ this feeling, and he wondered for a second how he could have missed something he'd never felt, received and given. He remembered another set of familiar brown eyes and chocolate-colored hair, a brown leather dress and thin arms encircling his neck and leaning into his chest. He remembered a mother gently stroking his hair as _his_ arms wrapped around her torso, _his_ face pressing into the softness of her bosom.

Then Jamie's arms had tightened around his middle, his face pressing into his chest and he felt a sudden need to touch him, to verify that it was real, confirm that Jamie was there, _hugging_ him. His arms relaxed and he gazed down at the incredible boy embracing him, a tender smile grazed his lips, steadily growing wider, azure orbs radiating affection.

Jack wasn't used to showing affection or used to receive it, but the feeling swirling inside him, increasing with every heartbeat, every second growing stronger, could only be affection and all he suddenly wanted was to give it to Jamie.

A warm, familiar feeling filled him as he bent down and leaned his head against Jamie's, his free hand pressed gently against Jamie's shoulder-blades , cerulean eyes closing slowly to savor the moment, the feeling of another person's warmth, breath and smell. A little more pressure was put on his hand, and he was delighted when Jamie's arms tightened in return. A content smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in over three centuries, Jack was finally genuinely content and happy.


	2. Family

**Chapter Two: Family**

The first thing he noticed was the stillness.

No sounds. No movements. No mischievous teenage winter hellion.

The silence of the night felt almost deafening.

It was _wrong_.

Bunnymund suppressed a shiver.

This forest was _not_ meant to be _this_ undisturbed.

There was no signs that the winter spirit had ever been here, other than the freshly fallen snow gently sprinkling the branches and blanketing the ground and the too crispy air. But the Easter Guardian knew the kid was here. The scent of pine, cold, snow and mint heavy in the air. The scent so distinctly Jack's, Bunny was sure he could catch it anywhere.

"Oy! Frostbite?" He almost winced as his own voice broke the quietude, echoing through the forest. "Ya' around here?"

What met him was more silence.

He ventured further in. It wasn't long before the little lake came into view. As always at this time of year, it was frozen solid. The moon was full tonight, glowing omnipresent in the sky. Its beams reflecting of the thick ice, making the place almost ethereal.

As he stood there by the lakebed, lost in the tranquil beauty of the place and getting some good ideas for new motives and designs for his eggs, he heard it. Had it not been for his exception hearing, he would never have caught the almost inaudible sound of rough material shifting against wood.

Long ears twitched once. Then twice.

When he turned around, he knew where to look. Emerald green eyes found the boy, sitting on a branch high up and gazing down at him, face set in a scowl and staff held tightly.

"Jackie?"

"Go away, Kangaroo."

"Ain't hpnin' mate." Ok, he was getting a little impatient. What was it with the brat that always seemed to rub him the wrong way?

"What do you want?" His tone was clipped; the words were cold, but not particularly spiteful.

"I just came ta talk to ya'."

"I don't want to talk."

It took him a small effort not to snap at the kid. "That's too bad, mate. Cuz' I ain't goin' nowhere." Bunny advanced to the tree and sat down on his haunches, reached for one of his boomerangs and the greased cloth that was ever-present in his pack, and begun to wipe down the weapon. "Got all day in fact."

He heard some shuffling from above, but didn't look up. Only after a couple of minutes of silence did he glance up. Jack had drawn his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them and back slouched against the trunk. His conduit gripped tighter in a pale fist, already white knuckles turning whiter.

"I didn't mean to do it."

Bunny smirked. "I know." He continued to rub down the surface of the boomerang. "That's not why I'm here."

There was only silence.

"I'm not here ta tell ya' off, Frostbite."

There was some more rustling above. A sharp, frigid breeze brushed against him and he could tell that Jack had leapt from the tree and become airborne. He watched as the wind gently carried the kid to the ground, pale, bare feet sinking into whiter snow.

He replaced the flying weapon and cloth, stood up and walked a few feet forward until he stood in front of the youngest Guardian.

The boy standing warily before him was far from the troublemaker he knew (and perhaps even liked). The brat that loved freezing water pipes and mess with egg hunts had apparently up and left. He knew the kid was of a small stature, but right now, he seemed even smaller than usual, all drawn into himself and head bent. His floppy white hair made a tent over his eyes, shielding them from Bunnymund's scrutinizing gaze.

It didn't take a genius to see that the gentle approach was the way to go. The kid looked too overwrought for Bunny's usual way of handling things. A clock. Some brusque, harsh words. Maybe another clock.

Seeing the boy so nervous, he mentally sighed. He was _not_ cut out for this touchy-feely stuff. What was it with 'Warrior Pooka' the others didn't understand?

To lessen the intimidation factor that comes with being 6'1. Bunny knelt in front of the uncertain winter spirit so that they were eye to eye, except that Jack's white head was still bent, eyes shadowed by frozen locks. "When ya' left ta'day, we were worried about ya', Frosty." He began, trying to be tactful. To be _gentle_. Neither was his strong suit, but looking at the kid he kind of felt like they were necessary right now.

"There's nothing to worry about." The winter spirit's voice was still curt. "I'm fine."

"Don't believe ya'."

Jack shrugged, face still downcast.

"Look at me, Jackie." Jack finally looked up, blue-eyes vulnerable. "I know ye're used ta' bein' on yer own, but ye're not 'lone anymore."

There was a lull in the conversation where the Guardian of Hope and the Guardian of Fun looked at each other. Aster watched as comprehension slowly dawned on the young teen's pale face and Bunny caught a glimpse of the boy behind the mask. A boy who desperately wanted to believe his words, who desperately wanted to belong to a family, but was too afraid of abandonment to get attached. He was gone just as fast as he appeared, hidden behind a mask of wariness and uncertainty.

"I'll keep messing things up, and eventually you will grow tired of me and send me away, and I'll be alone again and–"

"Jack, ya' dill!" Bunny cut him of mid speech. How low self-esteem did this kid have? Did he not think himself deserving of a family? Moreover, did he really think they would cast him aside? Guilt trip number two of the day had his long ears flattened against his head. Silently, he cursed his expressive appendages. There was no making up for 300 years of neglect. All those years alone had scarred the kid more than they probably would ever know. The only thing they could do was to make the boy understand that he now belonged to a family that would never abandon him. They would never make the same mistake twice. Looking at the youngster before him, the Guardian of Hope knew they had a long road ahead of them. It would take more than a little elbow grease and some sweet words to undo 300 years of isolation.

"We all screw up sometimes, Frosty. No one is without flaws. But the thing with family is that they forgive and forget." He gently ruffled the winter spirit's hair, ignoring the small wince. "Ya' can never do anythin' that would make us throw ya out, Jackie."

Assuring green eyes sought insecure blue. He wanted the winter child's full attention before continuing.

"Family cares about each other. It's as simple as that, mate."

He could see when something inside the immortal teenager broke. The cold façade he hid behind finally cracked. For a moment, the boy looked so vulnerable Aster almost wanted to hug the winter spirit. Gleaming blue eyes blinked up at him, and the Pooka could clearly see the kid was fighting back tears. Pale cheeks warmed slightly. Jack gave him a tentative, wavering smile.

"Ya' don't have ta fly off on yer own anymore ya' know? Ya' can talk ta us. Ta me." Bunny swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "Ya know North's door's always open and Tooth adores yer visits, and Sandy enjoys yer nightly rounds together and…" A small pause. "Yer always welcomed at the Warren, Snowflake." The last part was said with some difficulty, but watching the expressions on Jack's face made it worth it. Cerulean eyes widened as a beaming smile split the elfish face.

And suddenly thin arms wound around his neck and a cold face pressed against his chest. For a moment, he tensed, but then shook himself and his arms awkwardly encircled the teen.

Not being much of a touchy-feely rabbit, he gently pushed the boy from his chest a few minutes later, but one paw stayed on the immortal teen's shoulder.

* * *

 **Just a sweet, little, fluff moment between Jack and Bunny. I hope you like it!**

 **Wow! 5 follows, 4 favorites and 3 reviews in less than 24 hours! You guys are amazing! Thank you so much! That really made my day!**

 **This is a small thanks to all of you.**

 **AyameKitsune and Grace Frost, hope you like this one too :)**


	3. Touches Pt 1

**Chapter Three: Touches Pt. 1**

It was the simple touches that meant the most.

The rough pat on the back from North.

The slight tugs on his leg from Sandy when he wants attention or when the others aren't listening.

The gentle brush of Tooth's small fingers when she touches his face.

And Bunny's ruffles of his white hair or nudges against his shoulder when they, once in a blue moon, gang up on North.

So simple, yet so meaningful to the young winter spirit. Years without have left him unknowingly craving the smallest of touches, of embraces and contact. At first, he wasn't aware of it. He instinctively shied away from them, from raised arms, hands and fingers. That lessoned had he learned the hard way early on. When North made to pat his shoulder, he jerked away with a sheepish grin on his lips and averted eyes. He jumped each time the Sandman tugged at his pants-leg and pulled away from Tooth's seeking fingers. And when Bunnymund raised his paw, he cringed and tried not to squeeze his eyes shut.

Very, very slowly he eventually became accustomed to them. To the small and gentle touches, pats, tugs, brushes and nudges. When North covered his narrow shoulders with big hands, he no longer flinched away with a shy smile but met sapphire blue eyes with a genuine smile and confident eyes. Sandy's gentle tugs no longer had him jerking away but rather smiling down at the little man with an attentive smile, giving the Sandman his undivided attention. Tooth's small hands no longer met empty air, but tenderly brushed his cheeks whenever she pried into his mouth to swoon over his pearly whites. And whenever Bunny brusquely shoved passed him or raised his paw to jab him playfully or ruffle his downy hair, his heart no longer tried to escape his bony chest and he never flinched away.

* * *

 **What do you think about this first chapter of the "Touches" arc? I'm planning to add four other chapters to this arc, each centering the other Guardian's experiences with Jack and affection. Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review and tell me you thoughts!**


	4. Touches Pt 2

**Chapter Four: Touches Pt.2**

Over the last few months, Nicolas St. North had perceived something different about their newest member. Though still as skittish as a newborn calf, their youngest was slowly leaving the shell of ice, North assumed the teen had created unconsciously as a means at self-preservation, he had fashioned around himself. Through the time spent together the first weeks after the battle with the Nightmare King, sporadic though they were, North gradually became aware of and deeply troubled by the youth's poorly concealed ingrained self-doubt. All the boy's flickering expressions over the past months, the careless words and confused reactions painted a painful picture of the playful little spirit who was left all on his own for 300 long years of shunning and isolation. It was a picture North wanted to erase and replace with a new one of the confident and radiant, fun-loving winter spirit he, on a few occasions, caught glimpses of. That side of their youngest member usually resurfaced when the boy interacted with the children of Burgess, especially his first believer, Jamie, while throwing an epic snowball fight.

Though Jack was a part of their little family now, he was still flighty at times and didn't stick around the four of them for very long. Three hundred years were an awful long time to be lonely, and it would take time to chase the self-abasing and ingrained feelings of self-doubt brought on by others of their kind, away. But North, being the stubborn man that he was, would, to the best of his abilities, (for the boy deserved nothing less) try to make up for the years of neglect, and rid the boy of the shadows clinging to his slight form and the lingering ghosts of rejection.

Therefore, the Guardians did their best to include the young spirit whenever winter wasn't in need of its Shepherd and Mother Nature gave him a break from the blistering blizzards and the coloring of the foliage. Whenever the Guardian of Fun visited the Pole, North would deliberately embrace the youth as he guided the boy to and fro on a grand tour of the Workshop with a heavily tattooed arm around his narrow shoulders.

North had early noticed the teen's interest in carving intricate and unique ice-sculptures. The first time being right after Sanderson's memorial when the Cossack had found the youth sitting by himself on the windowsill, creating a small, delicate picture of the Sandman with frost in fernlike patterns on the windowpane. Then again, later when he passed the room he had given the youth. Small, ice-figurines of North, Tooth, Bunny, Sandy, Jamie and his friends, so expertly and precisely carved North could almost believe them alive, neatly lined the narrow windowsill. Being an artist himself, North found it exciting discovering someone else whose interest lie in carving with ice. As he stood there, wide eyes displaying his Center, studying the small figures, he got a brilliant idea.

That idea soon blossomed into action and at Jack's next visit, the Guardian of Wonder found himself in his Workroom with an excited winter spirit, expertly carving exquisitely portrayed figurines. After some probing, as an artist to another, North got the humble boy enthusiastically telling him of his affinity for ice carving, of decades of practice and of the inner workings and intricate qualities of his own invention of a material the boy referred to as perpetual ice.

Looking up from his work on a detailed sleigh carving, he cast a glance at his visitor. North's sapphire-blue eyes wrinkled at the corners in a fond look. The Guardian of Fun sat hunched over crossed legs on the worktable, eyes intently locked on the figurine in his pale hands, a concentrated set to his chin with the tip of his tongue sticking out at the right corner of his mouth. North held back a laugh. The young immortal was hundred kinds of adorable, as Tooth used to say. Resisting the urge to ruffle the boy's white hair, North returned to his own carving, enjoying the companionable silence, the only sounds being that of tools on ice, the crackling from the grandiose fireplace and the muted noise originating from the Workshop.

It wasn't until much later that North noticed the silence was being broken by light snoring. His eyes once more found the lithe form of Jack Frost, torso toppled forward over his crossed legs, head resting on his forearms, a content smile grazing his pale lips, fast asleep. This time, North rose from his seat, reached out a tentative hand and tenderly ran it through the immortal teen's downy, white hair. Jack made a small sound and leaned into the touch, surprising the Cossack.

Jack Frost had a standing rule of no touching. Always straying away from hands, quickly bounding out of reach. The boy withdrew or in most cases jerked away from them, bony shoulders drawn tight and with a sheepish smile on his face, clutching his staff tightly. The other Guardians had after these experiences unanimously agreed that was there to be any form of physical contact with the boy, Jack was the one who should initiate it.

That only lasted a week or so. Jack, ever so skittish, was always out of reach, standing wary and separate from the group, usually by the nearest window, staff in hand. Or the winter spirit would spend the time observing them from the rafters of the Globeroom, back against a pillar and with a guarded expression. The other Guardians had learned early on that Jack did not like enclosed places and having his personal space intruded upon. Bunnymund especially had learned that the hard way.

Tooth had brought the topic up to him a couple of days later, saying that the boy had unconsciously leaned into her touch, as if yearning for closer contact, in his light slumber at the Tooth Palace after having spent hours entertaining her small fairies.

From then Jack would receive touches and embraces from the other Guardians whenever the opportunity presented itself.

A rough pat on the back from North.

A slight tug on his leg or arm from Sandy when he wanted attention or the original Guardians didn't listen or see him.

A gentle brush of Tooth's small fingers when she touched his face.

And Bunny's ruffles of his white hair or nudges against his shoulder when they, once in a blue moon, unfortunately ganged up on him.

Eventually, Jack had begun to close the gap between them. He no longer stayed separate from the group at gatherings and meetings, however, his staff was always clutched tight, his ice-blue eyes always sharp and attentive. But it was progress, and the other Guardians savored it for the small victory it was.

The bearded Guardian shook his head to clear his thoughts and gazed down at the sleeping teen still leaning into the hand tenderly stroking his hair. A warm, fatherly smile adorned the Cossack's lips as he gently eased the boy from his uncomfortable position on the table and into his arms, muscles tense in wait for the winter child to jolt awake. When nothing happened other that Jack burying his cheek further into his chest, North let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding, adjusted his hold on the too light teen and turned to the door, that surprisingly (or not) opened on its own.

When Phil entered without knocking (again), North gave the yeti a look that literally spelled "incorrigible". He sometimes wondered if his head of security did it on purpose just to jest. Phil held the door for him as he began the short walk to Jack's room, having seemingly forgotten whatever he wanted to tell him, or simply decided to wait.

Somehow, when he entered Jack's room he had a following of a handful of yetis and elves. Before he could chase them away, Phil had already cleared the hall. North nodded 'thanks' to the serious yeti before untangling Jack and tucking the small winter spirit in, still surprised over the teen's trust. Tooth was right after all, but then again, when was the fairy queen not.

The next time the Guardians gathered for their newly (obligatory in one particular winter spirit's case) monthly meeting, and the other Guardians settled on or around the sofa, Jack (out of habit more than anything else) wandered over to the window, pushed it slightly open and took a deep breath of the frigid, fresh air. When he turned back to the group of Guardians, his face was content, his smile peaceful, and North found that he liked seeing that new look on their youngest's face very much.

Maybe it was possible to paint a new picture a little bit faster than he first anticipated.

* * *

So here it is, the second chapter of the 'Touches' arc. Hope you all like it! Please leave a little review and tell me your thoughts!

A HUGE shout-out to all those who have favorited, followed and reviewed my story, (both the last chapter and the ones before that)! It really warms my heart to hear your wonderful words! Thanks to all of you!

This little update is for you, Barracuda57, for being such an amazing person!

~ T.


	5. Touches Pt 3

**Chapter Five: Touches Pt. 3**

Sanderson Mansnoozie first took notice of their youngest member's skittishness during North's exuberant dedicatory at the North Pole. The small winter child sharply jerked away from every touch of the well-meaning yetis with a mistrustful expression and suspicion in icy eyes. Throughout the congregation, the teen practically screamed wariness, conduit held close in a tight fist, ready to be used as a weapon given the right provocation.

He also observed that the eternal youth always kept a safe distance between himself and the other Guardians. Even after the whole incident with the Nightmare King, Jack would always stay out of reach but still close enough to be considered a part of the conversation, and Sandy assumed that the reason for that lay in the immortal teen's distrustful nature and his sense of self-preservation stemming from three hundred years of fending for himself.

Out of the four original Guardians, Sanderson knew he was the one who had interacted the most with the immortalized youth. Or rather, had the most encounters with the wary winter spirit. Jack would seek him out every few years or so, and the two of them would spend the night creating figures out of Dreamsand and ice. Whenever he knew the young spirit was around, usually when he passed over the little settlement in Pennsylvania, he would let his sand float a little lower and within easy reach for deft, thin fingers to play with. Sandy cold tell the little winter spirit was lonely, but his dedication to his work had prevented him from seeing more than the tip of the iceberg, and the Sandman had been content with just entertaining the winter child whenever they met. How he regretted that action now. The guilt and shame was a heavy burden on his shoulders, and rightly so. He could recall a time of invisibility of his own, long, long ago before the Man in the Mon chose him to be a Guardian. But, in contrast to Jack's isolation, he hadn't been shunned by his own kind. 300 hundred years were a painfully long time to spend alone, and Sanderson was aware of the emotional scars such solitude could bring, but not the exact magnitude of the ghosts their new Guardian carried with him.

And carry them with him the youth did. The Guardian of Dreams could easily depict it from the nervous movements of his hands as they constantly, and probably unconsciously, fiddled with the shepherd's crook, the wary set of his shoulders, blue distrustful eyes and the insistence of keeping a distance. Throughout the months of getting to know the mischievous winter spirit, Sandy had added much to this list.

Jack Frost was a conundrum. Having been ignored and neglected for three centuries, it was a wonder the youth hadn't turned rancorous and splenetic. Sometimes Sanderson wondered how many years more of solitude it would take to turn the playful, innocent, compassionate, mischievous Jack Frost into something much darker. Pitch's bitterness at his own isolated state served as a warning of how dangerous it was to leave one of their kind disregarded and rejected. Jack hadn't turned bitter in those three hundred years because the kind-hearted winter child honestly cared for the children around him, even though they couldn't see him, couldn't hear him and couldn't interact with him.

Sanderson shook his head to clear it of the what-ifs and maybes. The past was the past, and as much as he wanted to, the Dream Weaver did not have the power to turn back time. The only thing he and the other Guardians could do now was to ensure that their youngest member knew that he was no longer alone; he had found a new family at last.

He carefully pulled a carving of a small snowflake, so exquisitely crafted Sandy found it almost hard to believe his eyes, from his pocket. The detailing in the frosted ice was so intricate, precise and perfect it always astounded him. The delicate snowflake never melted. Sandy didn't know how the little frost child did it, but he assured him that the ice was permanent, it would never thaw. The memory of that night was a sweet one, which Sanderson would remember and cherish indefinitely.

The immortal teen found him as he delivered good dreams to the children of Scandinavia. Fall had just relented its hold on the land to the first nights of frost. It was a starry November night, the air crisp and fresh. Jack flew up to him, and at Dream Weaver's slight nod, perched at the edge of his cloud with a brilliant smile, nimble fingers playing absentmindedly with the streams of Dreamsand flitting passed. Dolphins sprung from the sand, joyfully bobbing up and down around the slight teen. Sandy watched with amusement as a blissful smile spread across the young spirit's face, lighting his elfish face brighter than one of North's Christmas trees. What affinity the boy had with the mammal he didn't know, but it made a popular appearance every time Jack twiddled with his sand.

They passed the next couple of hours in companionable silence, Sandy distributing dreams and Jack alternating between dozing and toying with the streams of glowing sand. Occasionally Sandy would turn back to the serene winter spirit and with a mischievous glint in his amber eyes, quickly make some snowflakes from the sand and push them toward the teen, who with elated cornflower eyes made some of his own, each snowflake special by design. The two spirits made a game of it, competing to have the most intricate of snowflakes. Sandy found pleasure in the youth's innocence and endearingly childlike behavior. The immortal teen had an aura of innocuousness and playfulness, which their world was sorely lacking.

When the Dream Weaver's job was finished and he was ready to move on to the next continent, he turned back to the youth, a hat formed of sand atop his head. He tipped it as he bowed in adieu, his signature for departure. The winter spirit nodded in understanding with a small, melancholy smile. Before Sandy could leave however, the boy held out his hand, gesturing to the smaller spirit to take the exquisitely carved snowflake resting in his palm.

"So you don't forget me." He murmured softly, voice barely audible, cyan eyes downcast and smiling shyly.

Sanderson, taken aback by the gesture and not wholly understanding the deeper meaning behind the uttered words, gave the teen a genuine, warm smile. Not wanting to pry, he let it go and instead gently cupped the delicate carving in his hands. As he reached out to gently pat the youth's white head, the winter spirit cringed and jumped back out of reach, a wary expression adorning his face. Sandy frowned slightly. The Dream Weaver was known for his kind and peaceful nature, there was no malice or threat in his action to warrant such a reaction from the teen. However, he let the matter drop and instead formed a few signs over his golden peaks of hair.

A snowflake.

Himself patting the head of a larger spirit.

A happy face.

This time the boy looked right at Sandy and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you." His voice was small and rough, as if unused for a prolonged time.

Making his own snowflake out of Dreamsand, he hardened the grains in his palm to stone before presenting the spirit with a golden snowflake identical to the one he was gifted with. The young immortal only stared at it uncomprehendingly, eyes wide and baffled. Sandy gestured to the stone and with a few signs tried to coax the boy to take it.

He watched at it slowly dawned on the boy that the sand-snowflake was for him. His cerulean orbs grew even bigger and his expression alternated between surprise and glee, as if he'd never been given a gift before. He reached out tentatively and carefully picked the stone up, clear blue eyes filled with wonder scrutinizing the detailed artwork. A huge grin split his face and the boy stepped forward as if to hug him, but withdrew almost immediately. He met Sandy's amber gaze with such gratitude it was almost overwhelming, before leaping from the sand-cloud, hovering in the air beside the Dream Weaver, staff in one hand and the golden snowflake in the other.

Sandy smiled warmly before biding the little spirit goodbye with a wave.

There were many unanswered questions surrounding Jack Frost. Questions Sandy now deeply regretted he'd never asked. Instead, he had brushed them away, let everything odd about the winter spirit, his silent little companion, drop with a shrug or a frown. Sanderson wasn't the type to pry, but now he wished that he was and had been. Maybe he could have done more for the lonely spirit.

Ever since that night, Sandy had kept the little snowflake safely in his pocket. Looking at it now, he wondered if Jack had kept his as well.

The very winter spirit occupying his thoughts brought the Guardian of Dreams out of his musings when he settled down beside the smaller spirit on the sand-cloud.

"Hi, Sandy," Jack greeted with his trademark grin.

Sandy smiled back and flashed a few signs over his head.

The winter spirit gestured to the clouds gathering on the horizon, "fall's finally over and this place is in desperate need of a little TLC, if you know what I mean."

The sandman nodded in understanding. It was the beginning of November after all.

"Hey Sandy," Jack piped up after a short lull in the conversation. "What have you got there?" the teen gestured to pudgy man's little hand still holding the snowflake.

Sandy held out his palm and watched the emotions flicker over the winter spirit's distinctly youthful, pale face. With a slightly trembling hand, the teen reached inside the pocket of his sweatshirt before showing the Dream Weaver his own little snowflake made of golden sand.

"You kept it." It was more a whispered statement than a question, but Sandy nodded nonetheless, and then gestured to the stone in the teen's palm.

"Of course I kept it." The winter Shepherd said softly, a wistful smile on his lips. "It was the first present ever given to me." ' _And the last'_ added itself, and a wave of guilt and shame once more washed over the Guardian of Dreams.

"This place brings back memories, huh?"

Jack's voice broke the uncomfortable silence and the two spirits let their eyes wander over their surroundings, and Sandy's ochre orbs widened in pleasant surprise.

The immortalized youth cocked his head, voice light yet full of suppressed emotions, "Some 150 years ago give or take, right?"

This time when Sandy reached out to pat the Guardian of Fun's white head, the boy did _not_ cringe and jerk away. Instead, bright blue eyes full of innocence and endearingly childlike looked at the Sandman before, ever so slowly leaning into the hand hovering over his wind-tousled hair.

* * *

 **Here it is folks, the third instalment of the Touches arc. This time from Sandy's view. What do you think? Like it? Hate it? Something in between perhaps? Please leave a little review! I greatly appreciate it!**

 **If you have any suggestions as to what you would like me to write next, feel free to send it to me.**

 **Barracuda57: What do you think about this one? I really hope you had a joyful reading.**

 **MillyOnFanfics: Hope you like this one too! Ps. I love your enthusiasm so much!**

 **Whoivaneverlark17: I'm so glad to hear that you like it! Hope you find this one to your liking as well.**

 **AyameKitsune: Thank you so much! What do you think about this chapter?**

 **Sheepgirl3: Hope you like part 3!**

 **And a huge thank you to those of you who reviewed as 'guests'! Your comments warms this little writer's heart.**

 **~ T.**


	6. Touches Pt 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians. That goes for all the chapters, the last four and the future ones.**

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Touches Pt. 4**

The Tooth Palace was always a place of constant commotion, fluttering of wings and twittering of little fairy helpers. There was never a dull moment, but that was what Toothiana preferred. She loved being in constant motion, flittering from one place to the next without pause and always having something to do, fairies to instruct, teeth to sort. She had always enjoyed the buzzing of her palace. However, as of late, the urge to spend time with their newest member was steadily growing stronger, and she sometimes found herself wishing that the mischievous little Winter Spirit would fly in her window, all smiles and childish playfulness.

A few months had passed since the defeat of the Nightmare King. Her palace was finally back to its former pristine glory and the Fairy Queen had everything under control once more. Belief was steadily increasing, but there would still be quite some time before her Globe of Belief would shine as brightly as before. She was fine with that. Her fairies had all returned uninjured, frightened and scared yes, but luckily unharmed. She couldn't have asked for more. Belief would be restored eventually, albeit slowly, but as long as they continued to collect the teeth, they would get there.

She was in the middle of informing a group of fairies about some teeth that needed collecting in Hong Kong when a cool breeze gently ruffled her feathers. She knew immediately who it was and a warm smile played at her lips when she turned to greet her guest.

"Jack!"

"Hi Tooth." He said, trademark crooked grin in place and cornflower eyes sparkling impishly. "Hope I'm not disturbing—"

"Of course not." She interrupted, gesturing to the fairies beside her. "My fairies can take over for a little while."

Jack nodded, grin growing even wider, flashing of those beautiful snowy white teeth of his and the dignified Warrior Queen found it hard not to swoon like her fairies beside her.

The Guardian of Fun was suddenly surrounded by twittering fairies, each of them fighting for his attention. She chuckled softly as she watched the adorable scene before her with affection in warm fuchsia colored eyes.

He sure had come a long way from the wary, mistrustful boy she met for the first time only a few months ago. Her heart fluttered tenderly at the newly acquired warmth in those arctic-blue eyes and the relaxed set of his shoulders, which only just recently had begun to change from painfully tense and rigid. The teen before her, animatedly chatting with his feathery fan club, youthful face open and unguarded, was a stark contrast to the lonesome, apprehensive Winter Spirit who was left all alone, abandoned and neglected for three centuries. Her stomach churned with immeasurable shame and guilt. Shame for not taking the initiative to get to know the infamous Jack Frost and guilt for not even trying and never second-guessing that decision. She had supple of opportunity, her fairies had often chatted about the teen's perfect, snow-white teeth.

Watching the young Winter Spirit prattling away with her excited and elated fairies, a wide happy grin and unguarded azure eyes sparkling with larkiness yet gentle and benign, filled her with such boundless joy she couldn't prevent her wings from fluttering faster. A warm, motherly look entered her rubicund eyes.

A series of chirps yanked her from her thoughts. A small iridescent blur zoomed passed her, heading straight for Jack, only stopping to nuzzle a small feathery head against his pale cheek affectionately.

The Spirit of Winter chuckled fondly, cyan eyes crinkling warmly. "Missed you too, Baby Tooth."

Baby Tooth trilled happily, overjoyed to have the teen's full attention, much to her sisters' discontentment. She deliberately rubbed against Jack's cheek again before perching on her favorite spirit's blue clad shoulder, making the other fairies glare enviously at her. Toothiana stifled her laughter, instead opting to give the content, little fairy a half amused, half stern look, clearing stating that she shouldn't tease her sisters.

When she shifted her gaze back to the restless immortal teen, she found him looking at her, mischievous crooked grin in place and icy blue eyes sparkling in childish innocence.

"Have you ever skated before, Tooth?" The immortal teen asked, flashing his perfect canines.

She shook her head slowly, delicate brows scrunched in thought. "I don't think so." Her feet was rarely on the ground to begin with, she preferred to hover and fly, not stand and walk after all. She couldn't remember ever having done something like skating before, flutter over frozen and open bodies of water alike, yes, but never alighting on the transparent, icy surface, let alone slide over it.

Jack looked at her, gobsmacked. Then his trademark smile spread across his face again, hands absentmindedly twiddling his staff. "Want to try?"

It took her a few seconds to understand what he implied. "Like, right now?" She could feel the excitement rolling off her tongue and cerise colored eyes widening in anticipation and glee.

He nodded, celeste eyes crinkling at her eager tone.

Then she remembered a small hitch in his idea. "But it's summer…"

"Spirit of Winter," he pointed at himself, proudly. "Remember?"

A melodious chuckle left her lips, and she could only smile warmly at the cheeky teen. She gestures to the window, wings fluttering zealously. "After you then."

They flew out of the palace and down to the same little pond where Jack first had learned about the secrets of the teeth and the whereabouts of his lost memories. The grand mural was slowly being restored to its former grandeur. However, some patches of the beautiful painting were still marred with corrosion, the vibrant colors dimmed black, bearing scars from the Nightmare King's attack months prior.

They landed gracefully on the soft grass. Tooth chuckled slightly and clapped her hands as Jack showed off his acrobatic skills, doing small elegant flips and spins before coming to stand beside her, silver-white hair wind-tousled and disheveled and with a huge, exhilarated grin playing across his young face.

She beamed up at him. It was impossible not to be affected by the energetic, joyous and playful attitude of the slight immortal teen. He brought such happiness and life into their lives that she couldn't even recall what it was like to live without the mischievous little prankster.

But what she could remember was how wary and tense Jack had been at first, after having literally been thrown into their lives. He was still guarded and cynical, a lone wolf, but the outer layer of his shell was beginning to crack, showing them the real Jack Frost hidden underneath its many masks: The playful, skittish, troublemaker, the kind-hearted, insecure, attention starved child who loved pranks and only wished not to be invisible and lonely anymore.

Looking at him now, she couldn't prevent the warm, motherly smile from spreading across her face. He had come such a long way from that guarded, mistrustful Winter Spirit. She felt immense pride and adoration toward the young Guardian, who kept on fighting and remained true to himself through three hundred years of forced solitude and abandonment.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she turned back to watch the teen slowly make his way to the water's edge before gently tapping the surface with the crook of his staff. Delicate frost patterns spread across the pond like spiderwebs, dancing across the still water, beautiful and mesmerizing. She loved watching Jack's frost.

Once the whole pond was covered with ice, Jack turned to her with a boyish smile, blue eyes bright and warm. "You ready?"

She eyed the ice hesitantly before looking at Jack again, teeth worrying her lower lip unconsciously, wings twitching uneasily. All her previous courage and excitement having suddenly left her scared and skeptical. Water and delicate, fragile wings didn't really go that well together. She'd learned that the hard way. She repressed a shudder at the brief recollection.

"It's alright." He tried to reassure her, probably having seen her uncertain and nervous fidgeting. "I won't let you fall." Then his tone softened, the words leaving his mouth almost in a whisper. "Trust me."

There was such laden emotions behind those two words it almost took her breath away, and she struggled to compose herself as flashes of a ruined Easter danced before her eyes.

She quickly closed the small distance between them, placed her petite hand on his shoulder and tilted her head up so that she could lock eyes with him. Sincere cerise colored orbs met vulnerable cornflower, and she said confidently; "I trust you, Jack."

It took him a moment to comprehend her words, as if he'd been waiting for rejection, prepared for repulse and sneering. Shame and guilt filled her heart, weighing it down like leads. She fought and won against the sudden need to avert her eyes, and continued to gaze into conflicted blue orbs.

When understanding finally dawned, stunned bright eyes widened comically before a small, genuinely happy smile flittered across the teen's features, for once making him look very much like the seventeen years old boy he was.

Then he did something that took her completely by surprised, he tentatively reached out an arm, pale fingers shaking slightly.

This time, she was overwhelmed and had to blink a few times to regain control of both her emotions and body.

Jack Frost didn't do physical contact. With every touch, hug, nudge, jab or playful ruffle of frosty hair, Jack would always, without fail, flinch, cower, shied away or promptly fly off. If there were to be any sort of physical contact with the wary teen, it was always initiated by the original Guardians. Never once, had the chary Winter Spirit been the one to offer such contact. This simple act of trust coming from the very boy who always shied away from raised arms, hands and fingers, now standing before her, reaching out and initiating touch astonished her, caused her heart to stutter with maternal affection and pride and her pulse to beat loudly in her ears. She couldn't stop the tears from leaving her watery violet eyes even if she wanted to. Fearsome Warrior Queen be damned.

She hurriedly brushed them away before confidently taking Jack's cold hand, relishing in the feeling of those chilled fingers enclosing hers, albeit slow and tentatively. She gently squeezed his hand, trying to chase away his insecurities. She could feel her warm fingers gradually warming Jack's perpetually cold skin.

He slowly led her out on the ice. As her small feet left solid earth, she stopped breathing, eyes closing instinctively. When nothing happened, her eyes opened gingerly and she inhaled a shaky breath, looking sheepishly up at a worried Winter Spirit. Cerulean eyes searched her face before she felt slightly heated fingers squeeze hers reassuringly.

He took a small step away, their linked hands stretching. Her heart leaped when he took another, their arms now strained between them. But he didn't let go, only tightened his hold. She bit her lip as her wide cerise eyes shifted from their hands to the young Guardian's understanding and confident azure orbs.

"Just slide your feet forward towards me one foot at a time." He said calmly, encouragingly, icy blue eyes never leaving hers. "You'll be fine, I promise."

With a sharp inhale, she timidly pushed one foot forwards, letting it slide unsteadily over the ice a couple of inches. She suppressed the whimper pressing at the back of her throat and tried to still her fluttering wings. She clutched Jack's hand tighter as if it was her lifeline, slender fingers trembling slightly. Now she understood Jack's fight or flight instinct.

"Open your eyes, Tooth."

She couldn't even remember closing them. Giving herself a mental shake, she forced her rubicund eyes open and tentatively shuffled the other foot to join the other. This time her eyes remained open, heartbeat only increasing somewhat.

She braved another step, surprised when finding it much easier. She met Jack's assuring eyes with a shaky smile. She had closed the distance between them. Their hands, still clasped, no longer strained.

She chastised herself for her unwarranted fear. She trusted Jack with her life. Under his careful watch, the ice underneath her would never crack and the water would never swallow her. Before she could apologize for her insecurities and hesitation, he'd moved away again, but didn't let go of her hand, much to her relief. The feeling of his warming skin was calming and reassuring. She trusted Jack.

With another inhale, she slid forward. This time, more confidently. When she didn't slip or stumble, a small smile ghosted over her pale pink lips. When she looked up from her kaleidoscopic feet, the distance between them remained the same and she gave the teen her best glare, grumping under her breath. Jack only shrugged, giving her his trademark lopsided grin.

She shuffled forward slowly, adrenaline pumping through her veins. A small, shaky but thrilled giggle burst from her lips as they began to move across the ice more evenly, both their feet sliding paralleled and gracefully. Slowly, she began to relax. One round around the frozen pond and her shoulders were less tense. Second trip and her lithe form was less rigid. After the third lap around the small pond, her death grip on Jack's hand loosened and an exultant laugh bubbled from her throat.

She could feel the younger Guardian looking at her and she raised her eyes to meet his. Jack's face was alight with carefreeness and merriment, blue eyes sparkling with gaiety. When he gave her a smile so big and bright it almost split his face, she couldn't help her lips from copying it, cerise eyes brimming with happiness.

Baby Tooth chirruped cheerily, watching them both from her perch on the Winter Spirit's shoulder with excitement swirling in mismatched eyes.

Jack laughed, joyous trills leaving pale lips as he tenderly brushed her chin with his free hand. "Isn't this great, Baby Tooth?" He asked, flashing pearly white teeth. The little fairy swooned and twittered happily, tiny fingers twitching in longing to inspect the perfect set of hard, bony enamel-coated structures. The Frost child's grin only widened, jaw angled teasingly downward toward yearning hands.

Just as Baby Tooth reached out small-boned fingers, Tooth stumbled, her petite feet slipping on the ice. A pitiful yelp left her throat involuntarily as she pitched forward. Her free hand was raised to brace the impending collision with the hard, frozen surface, eyes clenched tight. Her heart thundered in her chest almost painfully as adrenaline pulsed through her veins.

Then she collided with something soft? An arm encircled her waist before being placed on her shoulder, steadying her. Her hand fisted in blue material and she blinked up at a chuckling Winter Spirit.

"I got'cha."

"Thanks." She straightened, pushing away from his cold chest, one hand still holding onto his, the other brushing over her feathered head embarrassedly. It was then she perceived that Jack had caught her. Steadied her. Encircled her waist. Touched her shoulder. And never flinched, recoiled or pulled back. Jack, their mistrustful, guarded, 'don't touch me' Jack, initiated all these simple touches. He could've easily just steadied her and let her go, let her stand on her own. But he didn't. She was the one to pull away. Her heart soared with joy and delight.

She beamed up at him. Confident and excited.

He chuckled, grinning broadly, showing off his pearly whites once more. This time, it was she who fought the urge to pry her fingers into his mouth to get a closer look at those perfectly arranged teeth.

"Wanna go again?" His voice was soft and warm and full of childlike excitement and merriment.

She nodded eagerly, no longer scared of falling. Jack would catch her. Their kind-hearted, coming out of his shell, 'touch is starting to be okay', supportive Jack would never let her fall through the ice. He would never let her drown.

This time, when he reached out she didn't hesitate to take his warm hand, reveling when it didn't twitch or tremble.

A small melodious laugh escaped her delicate lips as she followed Jack across the frozen surface, their hands clasped together.

* * *

 **Here it is, the fourth instalment of the 'Touches arc'. This time from Toothiana's perspective.**

 **This one's a bit different than the others, but I hope you all liked it regardless. The chapter is full of creative liberties, but I wanted to have someone who can relate to Jack's fear of water to build on later chapters, and I personally think that all the Guardians are afraid of something. You can't go through life without one or two 'phobias' after all. If you're wondering about Tooth's fear of water, I plan on elaborating on that later.**

 **Feel free to review and tell me what you think about the chapter as a whole, some elements or parts of this little chappy or the character description. No one wants their characters to be OOC after all.**

 **Thank you all SO much for your wonderful reviews, accountholders and guests alike! It really it motivational to read them. And a huge thank you to all of you who have favorited and follows this story!**

 **Barracuda57: Thank you so much for reviewing the last chapter! I always thought that too. Hope you enjoyed this one as well! Can't wait to hear your opinion.**

 **MillyOnFanfics: Hehe, I take you liked the last chapter? As always, I just love your enthusiasm! I would love to hear your opinion on this little chappy too. It's a bit different than the previous ones and I wonder if you liked this as well.**

 **Sheepgirl3: Thanks so much for your review! Glad to hear you liked the last chapter and I really do hope you enjoyed this one too.**

 **Zorra Reed: Wow! Thank you! I wonder what you think about this one. Hope you like it! And, thank** _ **you**_ **for reading and reviewing.**

 **Leo: Happy to hear you loved the last chapter! I really hope you like this one as well!**


	7. Of Snowflakes, Ice and Frost

**Chapter Seven: Of Snowflakes, Ice and Frost**

His snowflakes are special by design. Each and every one of them is unique and idiosyncratic, beautiful and delicate, fleeting and fragile.

And Jack is the only one there to bear witness to their perfection.

For years and years, decades upon decades he practiced, wanting his craft to be impeccable. To be magnificent and perfect. Vexation and exasperation were constant companions for every failure until he finally begun to create beauty in every flake, every hoarfrost, advection frost, fern frost, ice frost, rime and even in the black frost, though it pains him every time he is forced to utilize his craft and call on the 'killing' frost. Then fulfilment and satisfaction, and sometimes contentment became steadfast companions, replacing the frustration and aggravation at his lack of control over his own element.

It comes so easy for him now, creating frost ferns and snowflakes so intricate it's almost painful and surreal. And he wishes for someone, anyone to see, to share his creations with, now more and ever. Three hundred years are a very, very long time to be your own one and only admirer.

He coats the tree bark in exquisite hoar frost, fern-like patterns dancing up and down the trunks. He traces intricate designs onto the ice of puddles and fountains. He scratches delicate snowflakes in the fern frost on windowpanes and windshields, and he uses twigs and sticks to form outlines in the snow and ice before drawing them with his fingers, creating beautiful surface hoar that no one notices or admires.

For three centuries, he has colored the foliage in autumn, left fern frost in unique designs on cold windowpanes in winter and made every snowflake blanketing the terra firma in white, special and flawless. And no one even knows that it's him, his work, his magic craft, his creations and his beauty.

Then finally, finally, after three hundred winters (or six hundred if you count the northern and southern hemisphere separately) someone's there to notice. For the first time ever, someone sees his work. For the first time ever he attracts curious gazes and exclamations of wonder and admiration.

After all the years of imagining that someone would see, would care to ask about his skill, after decades of imagining admirers and making snowpeople as compensation, and after centuries of speaking – discussing, educating and answering unasked question, speaking the words aloud to himself just to hear them spoken, words that yearn for a pair of ears that's not his own – he can finally give his answer to the ears of real admirers, of real friends.

His cheeks flush and a delicate layer frost coats his warming skin at their complements and wide, amazed eyes.

"It's beautiful, Sweet Tooth."

"That's some talent, moy mal'chik. Impressive."

"Struth, Frostbite. Not bad."

And a silent exclamation of marvel and awe through a series of shapes and figures made of golden sand.

He grins so hard it hurts, arctic blue eyes bright and beaming.

For the first time in three centuries his voice is finally heard and at last he can tell someone about his craft, about the patterns, the designs, scratches and traces, about the different types of frost and how he ensures that year after year, decade after decade, he never makes the same design twice.

His snow, ice and frost are special by design, unique and idiosyncratic, beautiful and delicate, fleeting and fragile. And Jack is no longer the only one who sees their beauty.

* * *

 **Here's a small thank you gift for your wonderful reviews and for 'favoriting'! Thank you all SO much! Hope you liked it!**

 **AyameKitsune: What do you think? Is this little piece of fluff to your liking?**

 **MillyOnFanfics: I'm so glad that you liked the last chapter! Thank you for reviewing! Here's another little update, hope you like it!**

 **Barracuda57: Aww, thank you so much! It really means a lot to hear that! Your reviews are always so motivational and kind! Really hope you like this one as well *crosses fingers and toes*. As to answer your question about if I ship Jack and Tooth: I don't ship them per se, but I want my story to portray both Tooth's maternal side and the side that has feelings for Jack, because I've read somewhere that Tooth has some romantic feelings for him. However, I also think that she cares for him like family. I view their relationship as a mix between those two, a mix between affection and motherly caring/concern. And thus, I wanted the chapter to convey those sides of her. Hope that clarifies some things ;).**

 **WinterCrystal1009: Thank you for your review! I'm so happy to hear that you loved the last chapter! Hope you like this one too.**

 **Andipandi5: Wow! Thanks a LOT! It means much to hear that! I was really unsure of how to write and portray Tooth, so your review really means a lot.**


	8. Not Alone in Death

**Chapter Eight: Not Alone in Death**

It was **dark** and it was **cold**.

And he was **drowning**.

His arms and legs flailed uselessly, trying in vain to reach for the surface, to reach that tantalizing hole above which was steadily growing smaller and smaller. He stared up at the light flittering in through the jagged opening in the ice as his chest burned and the cold zapped his strength.

He was alone and he was sinking rapidly, the bitterly cold water embracing him and tugging him further into its dark depths. His lungs screamed for air as the tightness in his chest continued to increase.

It **hurt**.

Warm tears leaked from the corners of his dimming brown eyes. He never felt them trickle down his paling skin, the icy water taking even that small pleasure of warmth away from him.

His lungs burned painfully hot in his small chest, the tightness ever-present and growing, expanding and pushing outwards. It felt like his ribs might break through his skin and he wanted to scream at the sheer agony but fought against the impulse with all the strength he could muster.

His skin prickled and ached as if needles were prodding him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was disturbing and painful. He wanted to twitch and rub against the raw stinging. It felt like all his nerves were being lit on fire, only that the fire was frigid. It burned unhampered under his clothes and all the way up and down his spine and throughout his body like ice cold liquid freezing his warm veins from the inside out. The contrast between them was a warzone of hot and cold inside his slight frame.

He tried to move his body but he didn't even have the strength to writhe or so much as twitch his fingertips. Outside, he felt completely numb. Inside, both scorching hot and bitterly cold.

He couldn't **breathe**.

His eyelids closed halfway over fading chocolate orbs as the rest of his strength was sucked away by the freezing water. He could no longer move his limbs, only watch with darkening vision through hooded eyes as his arms stopped their struggle and slowly and calmly stilled and lowered.

He could feel his mind begin to wander. The pain dulling his senses and clouding his already fading vision.

He could feel himself drifting away. It was becoming harder and harder to fight the desperation and the intense burning in his chest. He was growing weaker, both mentally and physically.

And he was so **tired**.

So tired of fighting. Tired of holding his breath. Tired of the searing agony of the tightness in his chest. Tired of the painful pricking and stinging of his skin. Tired of the liquid fire in his veins, both scalding hot and freezing cold at the same time. Tired of being tired. But he didn't want to die. He wasn't ready yet. He couldn't leave his sister all alone, couldn't leave his mom to fend for them both on her own.

He was **scared**. So scared.

Scared of dying, but that was only a small part of him, the part that was not ready to give up on life. He was a child. It wasn't his time. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But he would gladly repeat it all again if it was to save his sister.

Fear consumed him, but it was not for him. It was for her.

His _sister_.

He was scared of dying yes, but that was miniscule to the blazing fright of his sister sharing his fate. He was terrified that she had wandered to the gaping hole to try to save him and fallen in as well. He wasn't strong enough to rescue her a second time. He was too weak to even open his eyes and look for her among the murky darkness of the piercing cold water. He could only hope that she was safe on land and fear that she was not fighting the same losing battle as him.

 **Darkness**.

It was so utterly and completely dark. He could no longer see the gaping hole above or the fading daylight that broke the through both turbid water and blackness.

His head was spinning, throbbing and pulsating painfully as white spots swam behind closed eyelids. When had he closed his eyes? He couldn't remember. Everything was hazy and distant and so very, very far away.

The tightness squeezed his chest in a vice grip and the blistering fire and bone-deep coldness in his veins became unbearable. He could no longer prevent the pent up scream from tearing through his blue lips.

He gave a sharp howl of agony. Immediately, water filled his mouth and lungs, suffocating him on a whole other level than before, when the only thing filling his lungs were nothing but empty air and a pressure so tight it made him dizzy. He could feel the numbing ice-cold water flow down his airway and into his lungs. He tried to clench his lips, but it seemed like once his control was broken his body could do nothing else than gasp for air that would never fill his lungs again. More and more water was sucked in and filled his lungs. Panic and terror surged through him, but he was powerless to do anything. His body screamed for the need and want to flail, to move, to jerk and spasm and convulse, to cry and scream, wail and yell but nothing would leave his mouth, his lips frozen and only gulping water.

His fear grew but he was too weak now to fight, to struggle against the encompassing darkness.

He did not see the inky darkness that slipped into the frigid blackness after him, nor the shadows swirling around him and brushing against his stiffening body almost in a gentle caress.

He did not notice that the shadows surrounding him, pressing in on him and enveloping him were darker than any shadow had the right to be or that they changed into that of a grown man, pale and grey with amber eyes warred with silver.

"It's okay. You can let go now." A velvety voice whispered to him, brushing against his ear warmly and soothingly, and he felt his body slowly begin to relax. "She's safe."

Only when darkness consumed his mind and he was finally drifting off into oblivion did he feel long, spindly fingers intertwined with his and a hand gently stroking his hair. The silvery voice rang in his ears, both reassuring and comforting. "You are not alone."

* * *

 **Just a different take on Jack's death that was itching to be written. What do you guys think? I wanted to experiment with this little idea that Pitch witnessed Jack's sacrifice and death. It seems likely (to me at least) that he would be there since he feasts on fear, and there's hardly a fear stronger than the fear of harm coming to a loved one and the fear of death. What do you think?**

 **Thanks a million for all the reviews and favorites! You guys are the best!**

 **Going back to work on Touches Pt. 5 now ;). It should be up soon. Enjoy and leave a little review on your way out. It would make this little lady very happy.**

 **Barracuda57: I'm overjoyed that you liked the last chapter! Thanks so much for the review and the kind words! It really means a lot. Jack's frost amazes me too and so I really wanted to include it in a chapter. That you enjoyed it makes me rally happy, and I hope you find this one to your liking as well. Looking forward to hear from you.**

 **AyameKitsune: Thanks a bunch for your review! It's really great that you want more, so I'm happy to grant your wish. Hope you like it!**

 **MillyOnFanfics: I'm really grateful for your reviews, so thank you, thank you! It's so good to hear that you liked the last chapter and I hope you're pleased with this one as well.**


	9. Touches Pt 5

**Chapter Nine: Touches Pt. 5**

Bunnymund was not surprised when he first became aware of Jack's strange reactions when doused in shows of affection. The simplest gesture of kindness and attention always seemed to catch the kid off-guard. He would fiddle nervously with that blasted, frozen staff of his and slowly shy away from them if not take off altogether. And Aster knows it's due to the young Guardian's years of isolation. Three centuries are a long time to be ignored.

Ever since the kid joined their merry little band, guilt has been a constant companion. It would come sneaking from the littlest of things. An offhanded comment from the frost child about his years of solitude would have them on edge. Seeing the kid talking to himself as he so often did when he thought no one was aware of him, was a cruel reminder of a past of isolation and loneliness. Worst of all was watching the boy flinch from every touch, every pat, every elbow nudge and hair ruffle. Jack Frost was not used to shows of affection, and that hurt the other Guardians immensely. No one, especially a child, should be deprived of affection and care. And Jack Frost, despite being over 300 years, was still very much a kid at heart.

The young Winter Spirit was naturally wary of others. Three centuries in solitary had instilled that in him. At meetings and other unofficial gatherings, he was always careful to keep to himself, always straying away from hands and quickly bounding out of reach. There was constantly a small distance between the Guardian of Fun and the Big Four. If someone came too close, the boy would flinch or pull back, narrow shoulders drawn taut, and hold his staff just a little tighter. The Guardians had quickly deduced that the Winter Spirit's grip on his conduit was directly connected to his emotional state of mind. Jack always seemed to clutch the shepherd's crook tighter or hold it closer to his chest when he was distressed, angry or wary.

They had agreed to give the boy some space and time to settle in. After 300 years of loneliness, it must be overwhelming to suddenly be visible, to be seen and interacted with, let alone to be surrounded by the very people who'd shunned and ignored him for centuries. Therefore, much to their displeasure, they would let the kid spend most of his time alone. Jack seemed to appreciate not being smothered.

That had been months ago.

And the little troublemaker still spent most of his time by himself. The distance he insisted on keeping, ever-present. He still favored the windowsill rather than joining them by the table and left as soon as the meetings were finished. He still withdrew from psychical contact or shows of affection. And the shepherd's crook never left his pale fingers.

They were at a crossroads. Either Jack would find his place among them or they would drift further apart. Sometimes he wondered that maybe the time for redemption had passed long ago and they were just facing the inevitable. 300 years of neglect was a long time. Forgiveness should not come easy, not even from a cheerful, easygoing spirit like Jack. Three centuries were just too long to simply wipe the slate clean and begin anew.

During Jack's solitude, they hadn't exactly been forthcoming and attentive. Bunny himself had been downright harsh and unrelenting in his hatred and spite for the mischievous prankster. The original Guardians had, in their own way treated Jack worse than the other vengeful spirits with how they simply had written the kid off as just another troublesome, irresponsible Winter Spirit. The other spirits had at least acknowledged the kid, though by Jack's reluctance to talk about his encounters with the other Seasonals, it obviously wasn't pretty.

They didn't deserve him, and if the kid decided to leave them, they would have no reason to blame him.

But that wouldn't stop them from trying. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that ever happening.

However much Bunnymund hated to admit it, the kid had grown on him. He was still very much a pest, which the boy was more often than not, and the little hellion always seemed to rub him the wrong way. Yet, there was something strangely endearing and childlike in that youthful, elfin face that called forth every, deeply buried protective instinct in his warrior body.

Even though they had explicitly told the kid that their homes were always open, even the Warren however grumpy he had extended the invite, Jack had never once visited them. They had decided then, to include the teen in their daily (or nightly) duties. North would often invite the boy over to help with the toy production. The twerp was remarkably good with ice (go figure). Tooth had convinced him to help with the teeth collection, and Bunny, himself had dragged the kid to his Warren, and watched in resignation as the brat messed with the sentinel eggs and froze the ground. Sandy however, did not seem to have the same problem with interacting with the boy as his fellow Guardians. He had told them once, that the Winter Spirit usually sought him out when he wanted companionship, and the kid was often found perched on the Sandman's cloud as he did his nightly rounds.

It had taken a turn for the better after that. Jack no longer stayed as separate from the group as he usually did. He would still take his seat on the windowsill, but sometimes, during the meetings he would leave the sill and wander over to them instead. Sometimes he even sought _them_ out in their respective domains just to spend time with them. Somewhere along the line, they had begun to bridge the gap, however slowly. It was progress, and the Guardians recognized it for the huge victory it was.

Still, something about their newest member remained unresolved. The kid kept jerking away from reaching hands, jumping from playful nudges and head ruffles, shrinking when towered over, and _flinch_ every time someone raised a hand.

It was as if the kid was bracing himself for a hit.

And Bunnymund knew then the reason for Jack's skittishness. It hurt more than he would ever admit to know that Jack thought them capable of hurting him. They could and would never raise a fist to strike Jack.

However, the kid didn't know that. And how could he know that?

Memories of a ruined Easter came to mind. He remembered shouting at Jack, hissing harsh words of accusations he would later regret and placing blame unwarrantedly. He'd been so angry, so absolutely furious. The feeling of invisibility so fresh he'd still felt the sensation of the kid running through him.

Then, out of pure rage and despair, he had raised his paw to strike Jack.

The utter look of shock and fear on boy's face had stalled his paw, the blow falling short. Jack had stood in front of him, eyes large and scared.

This revelation put everything in a new perspective. Jack, their full of fun, prank-loving Winter Spirit was _used_ to taking hits. Jack's reactions spoke of years of abuse. He was more used to violence than friendly behavior, and Bunny felt sick. That anyone could hurt a child disturbed him deeply. And that kid being their Jack hurt even more. The boy was a handful at the best of times, but his harmless pranks or other mischievous conducts did not warrant violence.

Bunnymund knew then, what he had to do in order to rekindle Jack's trust in touch. It would take time. But he knew not to push the kid. One wrong move and the Winter Spirit would be gone, whisked away by the wind he loved so much.

A stiff breeze not native to the Warren suddenly brushed against him and brought him out of his musings. He suppressed a shiver. Eternal spring was not meant to be cold. With a deep inhale, the anthropomorphic rabbit let the egglet he'd been absentmindedly painting go, and pushed himself of the ground. He could already see the frost teen in the distance, mischievous grin in place. Bunny smirked. His opportunity came earlier than he anticipated.

"Hi, Cottontail!"

Bunnymund bristled at the ridiculous nickname. "Yer' not here ta freeze ma' Warren, are ya' Frosty?"

The kid's face suddenly looked too innocent. "Why do you always think the worst of me?"

"'Cause I know ya', that's why."

Jack smiled cheekily, playing with his staff, nimble fingers expertly twirling the age-old wood around before it landed neatly on narrow shoulders. "Now you're just being mean, Kangaroo."

His ears twitched in annoyance, and he couldn't prevent the words from slipping of his tongue, tone unintentional sharp and acerbic. "Why are ya' here, Frost?" He regretted his tone immediately when he watched the smile on Jack's smile falter. The shepherd's crook left bony shoulders to be grasped tightly between pale fingers instead.

"I didn't come here to bother you, Cottontail." Curt. Defensive. "I just didn't…" He inhaled deeply, head bent and bangs shadowing his eyes, demeanor changing from cold to insecure in an instant "I just didn't want to be alone."

Bunny's expression softened.

"Ya' know yer' welcome here anytime, Snowflake."

Jack finally looked at him, a small, vulnerable smile adorned the kid's features, and Bunny found he preferred the first one better.

He often found himself wishing the boy would not hesitate so much before coming to them. That his first thought would not be about pretending to be fine on his own. He wanted to grab the kid by his small shoulders and shake some damn sense into his mistrustful mind.

During the time since the teen's official Guardian ceremony, Aster had gotten to know Jack Frost a little bit better. He had become familiar with the kid's manner of dealing with problems. Despite his yearning for attention, to be seen and believed in, Jack did not know how to rely on others. And how could he after being ignored and isolated his whole immortal life. Bunny knew that Jack's way was always to suffer in silence and alone. And thus, he was quite aware of the internal struggle it must have been for the teen to come and seek him out, to stand before him and admit that he rather not be alone this time. He would be a downright drongo to make light of that decision. There would be no witty and facetious remarks slipping past his lips.

Before he could think twice about it, Bunny slowly reached out and gently elbowed the teen playfully, ignoring how the youth jumped slightly. ( _Just get used to it, Jackie_ ) "Just don't freeze anythin', mate."

Jack chuckled a bit shakily, blue eyes sparkling mischievously and gave a smile promising _anything but_.

Aster shook his head and let it pass.

They stood in silence for a few moments. Jack no longer clutching his staff but rather fiddling nervously with it, eyes looking anywhere but at the Easter Guardian. Bunny, hiding a smirk, was partly lost in thought and partly observing the jittery Winter Spirit. That was when Aster caught their youngest member swaying slightly. Jack caught himself before stumbling.

Taking a closer look at the teen, he could see the kid's usually vibrant eyes had turned hazy, almost milky-blue and blinking in and out of focus. Even the boy's usual white complexion was paler than normal. However, his cheeks were flushed. Warning bells rang shrill and loud in Aster's ears.

He took a step closer, brows furrowed and emerald green eyes narrowed. "Ya' a'ight, kid?"

"Uh? Yeah, I'm fine." Jack slurred, his eyes not quite managing to focus on Bunny.

"Pig's arse! Ya' look ready ta' keel over any second, Frostbite."

As if to prove his point, Jack staggered, eyes going wide before he remembered his staff and used it to keep himself from pitching forward.

Aster watched the kid breathe heavily, eyes closed and cheek pressed against the crook of his conduit. The staff was the only thing keeping him upright. With a roll of his eyes, the Guardian of Hope hopped over to the teen and unceremoniously touched a paw to his forehead, bluntly ignoring the kid's no-touch rule.

"Crikey Jack, yer're bloody melting!"

And he was. When Bunny withdrew his paw, it was damp with sweat and water. Tiny beads of sweat rapidly formed and froze on the teen's flushed skin.

"It's nothing to worry about, 'Roo, but it's nice to know you care." He was trying to taunt, but with a voice so feeble, it wasn't very impressive. Bunny only snorted. Loudly.

"What's wrong with ya'?" The irony of _that_ question coming from _him_ wasn't missed on either of the two Guardians.

"Well," Aster could tell that if it wasn't for the fact that the kid had to use both hands to hold the staff and himself upright, Jack would have rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Around this time of the year it gets sort of warm everywhere so I have to stay somewhere cold, well _colder,_ for a while or else I end up like this." He gestured to himself with his eyes. "I wasn't planning on coming here." He confessed and Bunny inwardly flinched, wishing once more that the kid's first thought wouldn't be to isolate himself. "I was on my way to Antarctica, but I didn't really want to be alone…"

"Ya' did right in comin' here, Jackie." He said firmly, wanting to instill the notion in the younger spirit, making it clear that it was the _right_ choice and always would be the _right_ choice.

"Now, let's get ya' somewhere cooler, ey?"

Jack only nodded. He didn't protest or jump when Bunny gently placed a paw at his lower back, booth supporting and guiding him towards his burrow.

The Pooka slowly led the fevered frost child to one of the seldom-used guestrooms. It was dusty and stuffed, but it was cooler and the boy breathed out in relief, his muscles unclenching under his paw. Bunny guided him over to the bed and sat him down. Then left the room with a curt "don't go anywhere, ya' dill." He didn't hear the reply, but could imagine something colorful. The kid was great at coming up with nicknames.

He returned with a large bowl filled with cold spring water and a rag. Jack was lying down, eyes half-lidded and sweat mixed with water coating his skin. Some of the liquid froze immediately, creating a sheening film of ice. Aster dipped the rag into the cool water, sprinkled some water on the boy's forehead and cheeks and used the rag to try to blot his fever-warmed face. Jack relaxed under his touch, letting out an almost inaudible hum when the water hit him.

"Yer really somethin', ya' know that, Frosty?" He couldn't quite seem to keep his affection for the boy from slipping into his voice.

"I know." Came the cheeky response, blue-eyes a bit more alert than before, looked at him impishly.

"Ya' gumby."

"Hey! Don't bully the sick."

"It's yer own fault ya' bloody show pony." He clocked him playfully, silently reveling whenever the boy didn't flinch.

Jack rolled his eyes and Bunny clocked him again. The teen glared at the Pooka, rubbing his sore head. "Ow."

"Ya' feelin' any better?" He ignored the annoyed look sent his way, relieved the kid was finally returning to his usual mischievous self.

"Yes." He nodded. "The cold always helps." Smiling sheepishly, he blurted, "I'm sorry for troubling you. I told you I wasn't going to bother you…"

He was promptly clocked again.

"Yer' a real drongo." The following protest died on Jack's tongue at the look Bunny shot him. "Ya' belong ta' a family now, Frostbite, and family takes care of each other."

A nice purple blush bloomed under pale cheeks as a fine layer of frost coated the skin above, and a shy smile grazed the boy's lips. Jack turned his head slightly to hide his face from the very perceptive eyes of the Pooka beside him.

"And Jack." Bunny waited until the boy looked at him again before continuing. "Ya' don't have ta' be 'lone anymore, ya' know that right?"

The Guardian of Hope watched with satisfaction as Jack's breath caught before a small, but genuine smile tugged at blue-tinted lips.

Jack blushed again, but didn't hide his face. "Thanks 'Roo."

Bunny instinctively reached out and ruffled the kid's snowy white hair fondly. This time Jack did _not_ flinch and cringe. His eyes did _not_ squeeze shut or widen in fear. This time Jack leaned slightly into his paw, cloudy ice-blue eyes smiling up at him, a content look on his face. If it was due to the fever and his weakened state or simply because he was starting to trust him, Bunny didn't know, but nevertheless it gave him the opportunity to show Jack that _his_ touch would never harbor any ill-will or inflict pain.

He would deny to the end of time that he enjoyed the kid's company in his Warren. And for a few more months, he would keep denying that the irksome show pony was growing on him.

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 **Here it is folks, the last part of the 'Touches arc'. What do you think? Like it? Hate it? Maybe a bit of both? I would like nothing more than to hear your thoughts and opinions, so please leave a little review on your way out ^^.**

 **Ps. Sorry for any and all grammar mistakes! I will proofread it come morning.**

 **Next up is another short one-shot with Jack and Bunny. Hope you don't mind that overly much. Then, I'm thinkning about writing a longer Christmas Special as a small Christmas gift to all of you amazing people who have reviewed, favorited and follows this story.**

 **A shout-out to those who reviewed and favorited last chapter!**

 **AyameKitsune: Hehe, thanks a million for the review! Maybe he will, maybe not, who knows :P Well, I know, probably, maybe… But I'm going to address this in the future and have Jack confront his memories and Pitch will take part in the action. So we will see then what's going to happen ;).**

 **Guest: Thank SO much for the review! I'm really glad you loved it! Makes me all warm, fuzzy, happy and grinning like an idiot :P. I think so too. Firstly, I think that Pitch has, over millennia of being shunned and hated, grown bitter and resentful and willing to do just about anything to be believed in. Secondly, I believe that, even though Pitch Black is the Nightmare King who haunts the dark corners of childhood nightmares, Kozmotis Pitchiner's still fights against the fearlings inside him. And that side of Pitch sometimes shines through and sees something inside Jack that reminds him of his own daughter, and thus he could not leave the boy alone in his final moments. I can promise you that I will address this in the future, I'm just not sure if I should make a one-shot or an arc out of it yet.**


	10. Lose the Battle, but Win the War

**Chapter Ten: Lose the Battle but Win the War**

A deafening, furious and almost inhuman roar rang shrill and sinister in the darkness of the Nightmare King's lair, echoing through darkened halls and empty cages. The Nightmares surrounding him whinnied pitifully, both scared and surprised at their master's sudden outburst.

Mad didn't even begin to describe the raging feelings of hatred and abhorrence churning inside him, welling up and spreading like wildfire throughout his body. He wasn't just angry. He just wasn't furious. He was seething mad with burning rage and resentment.

The Fearlings inched closer, desperately wanting to feast on his bitterness and wrath, but he simply pushed them back with a flick of an ashen hand, a deadly glare was given to those who didn't relent. They moved as one, a vehement cloud of blackness creeping up the walls and slithering along the floor, brushing against his feet and trying to lure him deeper into the blackness, their shapeless forms even darker than the shadows of the lair. He ignored them. Their calls no longer affecting him. He was _their_ king after all.

It had been so easy to stage his defeat. All he had to do was call on his personal Nightmares and the Guardians' were lulled into a false sense of security. After those bothersome children restored Sanderson from his Nightmare form, he knew the battle was lost. He needed more time and a better plan. His master plan of ushering in a new Dark Age of Fear and Darkness by destroying the faith the Children of the World have in the Guardians had not taken Jack Frost into consideration. Had he known that Tsar Lunar would call on a new Guardian, it would have been a whole other ball game.

Though it worked splendidly, it was infuriatingly insulting that the Guardians were so arrogant, so conceited, that they _believed_ they had him _beaten_ , that his own Fearlings posed a threat to _him_. To be so vainglorious and haughty as to even think that his own creations and subordinates could end him when they themselves could not, it would have astounded him if it didn't make him so intensely wrathful he literally saw red.

Their ignorance and cocksureness would be their downfall. He'd make sure of that. He would take immense, cruel delight in depowering the Guardians once and for all.

He breathed deeply, trying to reign in his fuming rage. This was not the time to wallow in failures and defeats.

He may have lost the battle but there were ample opportunities to still win the war. The Guardians had not yet defeated him. They would never be able to _kill_ fear. Fear was a constant, always there and always feasting on both irrational and rational human fear, steadily growing stronger and stronger. This mishap was only a minor setback. He gained more than he'd lost after all. Now he knew the Guardians' weaknesses and strengths, and thus how to render them utterly defenseless and vulnerable. The next time they meet, he will pluck them off one by one and not attack them as a group. Five against one is not fair after all.

With one smooth, automatic motion, black, gritty sand swirled lazily around his hand. His muscles twitched absentmindedly, making the sand dance across his grey palm, slowly slithering between long, ashen fingers.

Golden eyes warred with silver as they suddenly narrowed dangerously. His fingers curled into a tight fist, the black sand dissolving and falling soundlessly to the ground.

He'd been so close. So tantalizingly, teasingly close. If only that meddlesome little Winter Spirit hadn't interfered, he would have won the war that had raged between them for centuries. The Guardians would have been no more, only a disgustingly vexing and distant memory.

His suppressed anger flared-up again, lean frame trembling with fury. Hatred so strong it almost left him breathless pulsed at his core, the Fearlings inside him wild in their thirst for power.

Oh, how he yearned to make him suffer, to have his small body writhe in agony as endless nightmare upon endless nightmare attacked his young, insecure and fragile mind. The boy was so filled with horrors and maliciously delicious fear it would be easy to break him, to make him his. The taste of a child's deepest fears was divine. The fear of an immortal was exquisite and intoxicating. And the fear of an immortal child brimming with uncertainty and vulnerability even more so. Oh, the feast he would have! He'd tasted Jack's fear before, both his human fears and immortal fears, and the last left him intoxicated and bursting with power for _days_. The boy's fears were so invigorating and irresistible, like a drug and likewisely addictive. He was almost tempted to whisk the boy away right now and lock him up deep in the darkest pit of his lair where the Fearlings clung to the walls and ceiling and slithered across the floor. He would have put the boy in a deep slumber and filled his mind with Nightmares so real and shell-shocking the boy would be begging for mercy that would never be granted. Oh, the power he would gain just by having an endless supply of the darkest fear of an immortal child. He licked his lips unconsciously, silver-golden eclipse-like eyes flashing hungrily. He could almost _taste_ it.

Or, he could make the boy his Fearling Prince. The Winter's Shepard was a force to be reckoned with, a force of nature, untamable and wild. Jack Frost was the personification of Winter and all its destructive and killing power. He was regal and powerful and so perfectly fit to be royalty. Once the boy was his, he would have full control of the mightiest season. Winter's powers would be his to control. Oh, how he longed for his Fearling Prince.

It would be so easy to accomplish.

He himself was a testimony to how dangerous it was to leave any of their kind ignored and neglected. It would only have taken a few hundred years more of disregard and rejections for him to have a willing ally or a pliable, bitter Winter Spirit to mold into his own fearsome Fearling Prince.

However, what he'd told the boy during their brief scuffle in Antarctica had been the truth. Changing the Winter Spirit into a Fearling would not grant him a companion, an ally, with a mind of his own and a youthful childishness, that he begrudgingly had admit he found quite endearing. Jack would be nothing but another pawn, though a very powerful one, it was not what he secretly wanted.

He hadn't lied to the frost child when he'd told him about how he, too, had suffered from loneliness, had longed for a family, and been shunned just for being what he is. He'd thought them similar, to kindred spirits cast out by others of their kind and left in solitude and isolation.

Jack would have joined him. Then and there, the boy would have joined _him_ , the only spirit who really understood him and offered him companionship and belief. A _home_.

Had he not been so careless with his words, he would have managed to persuade the broken winter child to his side. Jack was such a strong and stubborn yet delicately fragile boy, a child left to fend for himself for three hundred years, all alone and ostracized by others for simply being a Winter Spirit. His mind so lovingly tender and easy to manipulate and exploit, influence and shape. The boy was so painfully easy to read it was almost ridiculous. He'd never learned to conceal his emotions, and why should he? There never was anyone to shield his feelings from anyway.

It had been so easy to twist the child around his little finger. A few mutual felt scenarios and feelings and the boy had hung on his every word, a conflicted and vulnerable look on his youthful face, bright blue eyes veiled in a sheen of unshed tears. He really had wanted Jack as an ally. He hadn't lied when he'd stated the question of what goes together better than cold and dark. He would have won the war with the Winter Spirit on his side. If only he had gotten to Jack first.

He'd been so caught up in the moment, in the mutual feelings of two lonely souls who only wanted acknowledgement and family, and before he knew it, he had, in his enthusiasm of finally finding a kindred spirit, said the wrong thing. He knew the second the words left his lips that he'd lost the boy's trust, and no amount of goading would've helped. Everything went to hell from there, and he once again ended up depowered and locked away in the darkness of his own lair, where the Fearlings threatened to consume and devour his already blackened heart.

If only he could get a second chance. He was well versed in words of manipulation. It would be so easy to wave a web of deceit, to lure the boy into a false sense of security. It would only take another mishap with the Guardians, a devastating mistake or misunderstanding and the boy would be open to his persuasive, seductive words of manipulation. It would take some malicious deliberation and careful conduct and detailed calculation, but he knew he could make the opportunity present itself. He was a master of the art of aligning and manipulating certain events to gain a wanted result after all.

He would bend the boy to his will. The child was so scarred by loneliness, neglect and ostracization that a few sweet words of comfort and promises of friendship and belief would secure him full control of the Winter Spirit. Jack Frost was an attention-starved child who had been seeking solace and companionship for three hundred years. It would be so easy to string him along, to finally have a willing ally.

The boy was pliable to anyone willing to give him time of day, a conversation without violence and not filled with jeering and sneering, cruel and degrading treatment. Give the child some long yearned for attention, friendship and love and the boy was inclined to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

How quickly the child took to the Guardians was a testament to that. They only approached the lonely Winter Spirit at the Man in the Moon's request and not a moment earlier. They only needed him when they themselves proved too weak to fight him. But the child didn't see this. No, Jack Frost happily seemed to have forgotten the part where his so-called new friends had been neglecting and ignoring him for three centuries. He was not deluding himself to be different from those accursed Guardians. He only wanted the boy for his powers too. The Winter Spirit was a powerhouse, harboring the impressive, formidable powers of the wintry season. All that delicious power accumulating in such a small frame, just waiting to be unleashed upon the world. The child was a weapon to be used against Tsar Lunar's detestable lapdogs.

He'd been dismissive of the boy since the beginning, wrote him off as a solitary spirit, a nuisance and a good for nothing wandering child. How he regretted that course of action now. Had he paid a bit more attention to the young spirit, he would have seen the potential the boy could become. No one would have been there to object or prevent him from taking the child and chain him within the darkness of his lair. No one would even have noticed that the newly born but deeply resented Winter Spirit was even missing. Jack Frost could have been _his_ a long time ago. That thought alone vexed him deeply and he let out a frustrated sigh, the Nightmares whinnied, affected by his swinging mood. The Fearlings lurking around him had retreated, no longer brushing against him and feeding of his rage and bitterness. He was in control now. He knew what he had to do.

It only took one obnoxious and meddlesome little Winter Spirit to tip the war in the Guardians favor. This time, the distrustful and wary frost child would tip the balance in his favor. There is after all, only so much a scarred, insecure and uncertain child can take before breaking completely.

A malicious smile slowly crept across his ashen face, silver-golden eyes gleaming vindictively. He may have lost the battle, but certainly not the war.

* * *

 **MillyOnFanfics requested this little piece. I really hope you like it! *Crosses everything* I hope I did your suggestion justice by presenting it this way. I took quite some creative liberties as you see. I view Pitch as the type of character who does not allow himself to wallow in his defeat. He is a manipulative, calculating bastard at the best of days, so i think that he will start looking for opportunities and angles to get at the Guardians within moments of his defeat. And after having tasted Jack's power, I recon he would most likely go after him first by either manipulation or turn him into his Fearling Prince. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed it! And please give me more suggestions/prompts/requests!**

 **WinterCrystal1009: I haven't forgotten your suggestion! The first chapter currently consists of four pages, so it's a work in good progress that soon is likely be updated. Just send those ideas/suggestions my way if you want to, I'll be happy to have a go at them! It's such fun writing requests/suggestions! And I will definitely be adding a Memories arc as you suggested. That's a great idea! I can imagine the Guardians faces when seeing Jack's death too, as well as seeing Pitch break Jack's staff *smiles evilly and plottingly*. In the meanwhile, I hope you liked this one!**

 **Barracuda57: Thank you SO much for that incredibly sweet review! It really made my day! My fingers are just flying over the keyboard wanting to write and publish as fast as possible. I love reading your reviews! The Christmas special is currently 10 pages and growing! I really hope you'll like it!**

 **AyameKitsune: Thanks again for reviewing! It's really motivating me to keep updating! Hope you like this one!**

 **Guest: Thank you! It's really makes me happy to hear that! Hope you enjoyed this too!**

 **As always, you guys are GREAT! Thank you SO much! Love all you all!**


	11. O Silent Night

**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

 **Here it is, as promised, a Christmas Special just for you guys! And I have to say: Brace yourself people, this is a LONG one! 20 whole pages! 10 768 words! Hope you like it! Enjoy! Sorry for the horrible grammar in this one!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: O Silent Night – A ROTG Christmas Special**

He was flying over Russia when he first caught wind of the name Saint Nicholas, spoken with reverent and wonder from adults and children alike. The man was known for his legendary habit of secret gift-giving and as the stories of this miracle man reached his ears, Jack's curiosity only grew.

…

They called him Nicolaos the Wonderworker, so he called him that too.

He heard whispers of nice and naughty lists, of presents for something called Christmas, of a fat, bearded man climbing down chimneys at night and leaving gifts: presents for nice kids and coal for naughty ones.

He spent his Christmases outside, looking in through windows and stealing glances at families spending time together, happy and joyous. Hugs and kisses made him feel cold and melancholy, and he often found his arms encircling his chest, squeezing tightly and he could almost trick himself into believing that someone was embracing him, that he was part of the loving family celebrating the holiday only meters away. Then he would open his eyes and the warmth from the fireplace and the loving arms were no longer hugging him, and he would be lonely and cold, sad and so very tired of being alone.

He sometimes wondered why he'd never received any gifts, neither present nor coal.

He was a good kid.

Right?

…

They called him Father Christmas, so he called him that too.

Then he wondered if the reason Father Christmas didn't come was because he didn't live indoors so that the Big Man couldn't find him. After all, he followed his one and only companion wherever it blew. He'd never stepped a foot inside a house. And he heard that Father Christmas only came in through the chimney and there wasn't any chimneys by his pond.

The next Christmas he spent with a small family in Colorado. The twins at four were excited about a pair of oversized socks their mother had hung on the mantelpiece, and even though he hadn't understood why, he made his own so called 'stocking' of some worn fabric he found on the street and a torn piece of leather form the frayed hem of his threadbare cape. He clumsily sewed them together with bulky and jagged stitches and was immensely proud of himself at the result. He did it all on his own. He hung his stocking up beside the twins', equally enthusiastic and eager.

Then he waited.

And waited.

Christmas came and went, the twins' stockings were filled with something called candy and sweets, and he was sure it tasted amazing, if the twins' faces were anything to go by, but he didn't take any from them. They were poor and he knew their father had worked extra hours at the factory so that they could afford the little treats for their boys.

His stocking remained cold and empty, and falling apart at the uneven seems.

Father Christmas also left presents underneath a small fir tree beautifully decorated with homemade ornaments and burning candles.

There were neither present nor coal under the tree left for him to find when he ran after the twins that Christmas Morning.

He left the little house with the happy, loving family later that day after watching them dine and huddle together by the warm fireplace, listening to the boy's lean father reading stories about good ol' jolly St. Nick, all the time wondering why.

What had he done wrong?

He was a decent boy.

Right?

…

They called him Santa Claus, so he called him that too.

He didn't have a home.

Maybe that was the reason Santa Claus couldn't find him. He didn't have a house. It wasn't good enough just to sneak into someone else's home, he had to have one for himself for Santa to come and give him gifts, be that presents or coal. He would be grateful for either. Both would mean that someone acknowledged his existence.

He spent the last weeks before Christmas that year building an igloo not far from his lake by the outskirts of the newly founded Hawthorne. He made sure his new home was beautiful. Fern-like frost decorated both the outside and the inside, twisting up from the ground in elegant swirls. He tried his hardest to make the designs and patterns unique and special but they came out pretty much alike, rough and uneven, and he felt his vexation and exasperation increase at each attempt.

He carved a fireplace and mantle out of the ice, a bed, a bowl and a glass he filled with stolen milk and cookies, and come Christmas Day, his newly but poorly mended stocking was pinned to the mantelpiece with an ice shard.

Once that was done, he flew into the forest in search for the perfect Christmas tree. It took around an hour with scouring before his perfectionist gaze fell on the exact tree he was looking for. With a loud whoop, he began the tedious work of trying to fell the blasted thing.

By the time he managed to drag the tree back to his igloo, the sun was already setting, and colors of deep orange and red danced across the sky. With a little bit of winter magic he managed to get the tree unscathed inside and standing upright.

Then it was time to decorate. Last year, he had watched as the family in Colorado had decorated their Christmas tree. The whole family participated. There had been laughter and joy and love and warmth, and he'd longed to join them. Now he could. He had a whole tree to decorate by himself… With a small, wistful smile, he walked over to the bed, bent down on his knees and pulled out a small box made of ice. He placed it on the bed before opening the lid, and reaching inside to pick up a delicate ice figurine. He'd spent the last months creating small Christmas ornament out of ice. It had taken a long time to perfect the technique and acquire the skill to make the figures and carvings, but he was nothing if not meticulous and stubborn. They were far from perfect, but it was something and of that, he was proud. He now had a box full of Christmas decorations, of mini Santa Clauses (he had to go by imagination since he'd never met or seen the real one), snowflakes, stars, hearts, icicles and more. He'd even used some of his meager supply of money to buy candles.

Humming a Christmas tune he picked up last year, he set to decorate his perfect Christmas tree, a happy smile tugging at his blue-tinted lips.

An hour later and his smile was now a radiant grin. He gave the tree a final once-over and was pretty pleased with the result. It was everything a Christmas tree should be, grand, beautiful and sparkling.

Now he had a home. Santa would visit him this time, for sure. He really believed it.

He wanted to stay awake, to wait for the legendary man who was said to bring gifts to the homes of well-behaved children and coal for the naughty, but he heard somewhere that he didn't come to those who stayed up. Or was that the Tooth Fairy? He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to risk it either way. So, he dived under the thin snow-blanket he'd made earlier and nuzzled against a pillow of the softest of snow, eyelids heavy and small frame exhausted after days of hard work and no food nor sleep. He'd kept a tight lid on his powers the last three days as not to make it harder for Santa Claus to find him. It was painful and exhausting, and his skin was sore and itched terribly and felt like it didn't fit him anymore. His head throbbed painfully, sometimes his vision swam, and black spots danced across his retinas. But he pushed it all away, pretending that everything was just peachy. And it really was. If he overlooked the pain of suppressing his powers. He was practically jumping with glee and excited nerves. Tomorrow he would wake up to a stocking filled with candy and perhaps a present would be waiting underneath his tree, or he would find a piece of coal in his stocking and no present lying in wait. But that would be fine as well. He would take whatever Santa gave him. A gift was a gift after all and he'd never received anything of the likes before.

Like usual, he fell asleep without the Sandman's assistance.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were snapping open, bright and excited and brimming with hope. The sun's first rays warmed his face where they flittered in through the small, round window over the 'door' opposite the bed.

He sprung up, legs getting stuck in the light snow-comforter and sending him sprawling to the icy floor. He was up again almost before he hit the ground, scrambling and clumsily stumbling over to the mantel, limbs still heavy with sleep.

He stopped promptly in front of the empty fireplace. His stocking hang limply on the mantelpiece, not a candy or sweet in sight. The bowl and glass were left untouched.

' _That's okay'_. He told himself. He was a naughty kid then. He could live with that.

Turning away from the disheartening sight, he reluctantly faced the Christmas tree where most of the candles were burned out. His heart hammered against his ribs in both anticipation and nervousness, eyes wide with trepidation and suspense.

His shoulders slumped and sagged in disappointment and resignation as he tipped his head, letting his snow-white bangs covering his gleaming eyes and obscuring his blurry vision.

The spot left open for a present underneath the beautiful tree was empty, staring at him like a yawning chasm of hard-packed ice and soil.

He didn't reinforce the ice. The igloo and all the memories it contained could melt away and disappear for all he cared. He didn't want them, didn't need them and definitely wouldn't miss them. It meant nothing. Just another mess he'd made. The sooner it was gone, the better.

He took off, leaving Hawthorne, his pond and that accursed 'home' and memories behind.

The next Christmas was spent giving snow and starting as many blizzards as he had the strength and power to muster.

It didn't come as a surprise when he finally understood why Santa Claus didn't come, didn't leave gifts. He was on neither of Santa Claus's lists. He didn't deserve presents. He wasn't even good enough for coal. He was a troublemaker, a teenage hellion and the spirit of mischief and chaos personified.

But that didn't mean he would give up and resign himself to the fact that he never would get a gift from the Big Cheese.

Oh no. Not him. Not Jack Frost. He just had to figure out his next course of action.

…

They called him Nicholas St. North, so he called him that too.

And if Nicholas St. North didn't want to come to him, he just had to visit the big man himself.

He spent the months before Christmas trying to sneak into the legend's workshop.

The first time he'd only barely set foot inside the window he tried to slip in through when his sight was blocked by a mass of fluff. He was promptly picked up and thrown out with an angry grunt or something the like. He really didn't understand the gabbling creature.

The second time went slightly better. At least he managed to sneak in through the same window and tiptoe across the floor and open the door before bumping into the very same furry beast, _yeti_?

Third times the charm. Or so he told himself. He _did_ get further inside the massive structure than the first two attempts, but he was eventually caught by a too familiar irate yeti before he could see anything other than empty hallways and locked doors.

He had begun calling the angry yeti Phil. After all, he couldn't go around calling him 'you', 'furry face', 'green eyes' and so forth. The creature needed a name. Why not let that be Phil. It was hilarious and perfect, and the furry beast seemed to hate it.

It was his fiftieth Christmas since he rose from his lake and he was tired of spending Christmas all alone. This year he would reach Nicholas St. North private workshop. He wouldn't celebrate by himself, surrounded by a silent family made of snow and ice.

He landed gracefully on the small ledge outside the window he always used to enter the huge complex, and with skillful hands formed a small lock picker made of hardened ice. He expertly picked the lock, and pushed the window open before creeping through and quietly tiptoeing over the wooden floor of the scarcely furnished room, towards the sturdy door.

He grimaced and unconsciously held his breath when the door creaked as he opened it. The hallway was deserted and he quickly made his way in the direction he knew led deeper into the workshop, fingers and toes crossed in hope of not bumping into any yetis.

He was lucky.

It didn't take long before he reached his goal. The double-doors at the end of the corridor was calling to him. In all his years of trying to sneak in, he'd never made it this far before. His heart was beating fast, hammering against his ribs and his pulse drummed in his ears. He creeped closer, ears almost aching from the strain of listening for wayward yetis and those persistent elves whom always insisted on scurrying underfoot. The smallest sound had him jumping and scampering for cover.

He stopped in front of the looming doors, anticipation swirling in his stomach. A thrilled smile crept across his elfish face as his slim fingers curled around the cool, brass knob. He tentatively eased the door open and peered through the small gap.

…And was dispirited when all he could see was another empty hallway – well, maybe not so vacated after all…

He inhaled sharply and stumbled backwards, backpedaling away from the door and the approaching yeti. He had to find somewhere to hide, and fast! He gripped his staff tighter and was about to whirl around and backtrack when his back hit something hard yet soft and furry at the same time.

A thick paw grasped his narrow shoulders and he instinctively tensed, his whole body going rigid and ready to either fight or flight. When nothing other than an animal-like grunt rumbled from behind him, he gulped and tipped his head backward, gazing up at a fuzzy face. Exasperated hazel eyes glared down at him.

"Oh, hey Phil." He smiled sheepishly up at the towering yeti. "Fancy meeting you here." When Phil made to grab him, he panic slightly, heart pounding faster. He'd come too far to be caught now. "No, wait! Let me explain—"

But Phil wouldn't listen, and before he could react his staff was ripped from his hands and strong, furry arms encircled his waist and he was promptly thrown over the yeti's left shoulder.

He struggled and cursed the whole way. He endeavored to explain, to reason with the grumbling beast. All he wanted was to celebrate Christmas with _somebody_ , someone warm and breathing, someone _alive_.

But it was all for naught.

When they reached the grand double doored entrance, he was unceremoniously thrown out, backside hitting the hard-packed snow roughly. Rubbing his tailbone, he glared up at the furry creature, eyes shimmering with anger and frustrated tears. He stubbornly blinked them away as Phil gabled something in yetish before handing him his staff, the frost immediately sprung from his pale fingers to cover the age-old wood.

Then the doors slammed shut.

"Merry Christmas to you too…" He muttered dejectedly, thin fingers absently brushing snow from his lap.

He sat in the snow outside Nicholas St. North's workshop. Thick, fluffy flakes swirled around him but he didn't notice, eyes only seeing the locked doors he'd been so dismissively and uncouthly thrown out of.

It would open again. And Nicholas St. North, the gift-giving, jolly man, would come out and greet him and invite him in, and he would _finally_ have something warm and juicy to fill his belly. He would _finally_ have someone who could see him and to talk to him, and maybe even hug him if he were lucky. And the saint would let him spend the night in a warm and cozy bed with stories of adventures and snowball fights.

The door would open. It had too.

But the door didn't open.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes soon turned to hours, and by the time he finally moved, the sun was long gone and darkness had descended. He was once more cast in shadow and invisible to the world around him. But until that moment, he sat unmoving, seemingly impervious to the sub-freezing wind and occasional flurries of snow blown from nearby boughs, wistful blue eyes fixed upon the grand double-doors.

He later learned that Nicholas St. North, was not only a legendary figure said to bring gifts to the homes of well-behaved children. He was also a Guardian of Childhood.

Often, he found himself wondering why a Guardian, whose very livelihood revolved around the protection of children, didn't seem the least bit interested in protecting him. Though immortal, he was still very much a child. A child without memories and knowledge about the world and his place in it, scared and all alone. Then he usually recalled that he was a kid not worth being noticed, he'd never been visited by North anyway, so why would the man care about a troublemaker when there were billions of nice, well-behaved children out there.

Years went by and one Christmas blurred into the next in the blink of an eye, and Jack spent every one of them pretending he had a family of his own that cared for him and loved him. Some Christmases were spent gazing longingly through frosted windowpanes, wishing and imagining that he was a part of the happy family inside. He would pretend to dine with them, talk with them and open presents with the children, and play and laugh and be merry. Other Christmases he spent by his lake, building snowpeople as family members and making his own holiday traditions. He'd watched plenty of families through the decades, so he thought he had a pretty good grasp of which family members to create and what traditions were the most popular and important.

He no longer tried to bust into Nicholas St. North's workshop on Christmas Eve to get the Guardian's attention, opting to continue with his own 'traditions' instead. If the saint didn't want to bring him any gifts or protect him, he didn't want anything to do with the supposed jolly man either. However, that didn't mean he'd given up on getting into the legend's workshop. After his thirtieth attempt, it had become somewhat of a game between him and Phil. Now he had another reason for break-in and entering, which he did sporadically and by whim. Jack's goal was no longer to bust in to see Nicholas St. North, but to succeed at giving Phil the slip and see all the amazing toys produced by the pointy-hatted elves.

He was attention-starved and longed for touches and embraces of any kind. Phil was the first to give him that kind of affection, to give him any sort of recognition really, and Jack relished in it. Finally, someone saw him, acknowledged his existence and did so without violence (other than some light manhandling), without jeering and sneering, contemptuous attitude and scornful looks. Phil simply grabbed him, gabbled something in yetish and threw him out along with his staff.

Jack yearned for company and the only opportunity he had to feel something remotely akin to companionship was when he snuck into the Big Cheese's workshop and annoyed Phil the grumpy yeti.

He lost count of how many times he tried to bust in after the 185th time.

…

They called him North, so he called him North too.

For the last three weeks, he'd been avoiding the workshop as not to cause North any trouble in his finishing touches in the days leading up to Christmas. He didn't want to ruin this holiday as well. And he didn't want to give the Big Four a reason to throw him out and leave him to his own devices once more. That, he couldn't handle. This time it would break him. It would be much worse being all alone again after having experienced what it meant to be part of a team, to have friends and believers. Therefore, he opted to stay far, far away from the other Guardians. He occupied the lonely days with spreading as much snow, fun-times and snow-days as possible.

When Bunny popped from the ground on Christmas Eve, he was so thoroughly surprised and confused he gracelessly fell from the branch he was resting on and tumbled towards the snow-covered ground. If it wasn't for his fast reflexes and hard-learned experience (however reluctant he was to admit that one) he would have collided with the unforgiving forest floor face first and probably broken his nose as a bonus. But as it were, he managed to call the wind at the last second and was fluidly placed by the frost covered trunk.

His cheeks frosted when he caught Bunny guffaw. He would never live this down, would he?

"That was priceless, Frostbite." The Guardian of Hope teased, voice suppressed with laughter. "Ya' should've seen yer' face."

He struggled to keep the frost on his face from spreading and thickening further.

"Ha ha, very funny, Kangaroo." He said, both miffed and embarrassed, but trying his best to hide it.

Bunny took a step forward, smug smile replaced with an angry scowl. "Oi, I'm not a Kangaroo, mate."

Jack waved his hand offhandedly, a cheeky smile growing across his icy face. "Could've fooled me."

"Watch it, Frostbite." Bunny warned, hackles bristling and green eyes flaring warningly.

There was a short lull in the tense conversation, the silence almost palpable. This could go either way and it was up to him to decide which. For once Jack wasn't in the mood for roughhousing and shouting-matches, and he found that slightly disconcerting. It really was out of character for him to refuse a fight. Since when didn't he want to annoy the Easter Kangaroo? He blamed it on the holiday.

So, to prevent infuriating the Pooka further, he chose to change the topic.

"Anyway, what are you doing here, Cottontail?" He asked, voice neutral and slightly bored. He unconsciously fiddled with his staff, flipping it restlessly about in his hands.

He could see that Bunny was taken aback by the sudden shift in their conversation. His angry expression changed to one of puzzlement before being replaced by his usual casual aloofness. "I came ta' fetch ya' of course." At Jack's bewildered and surprised face, the old Pooka only shook his head. "Ya' haven't forgotten North's party already, Snowcone? I'm beginnin' ta' worry about yer mental health here. I mean, it was hardly stable when I first met ya' afta' all."

"Hey!"

"Aw, get off it, kid." Bunny chaffed, cracking a grin. "Ya' know it's all in good fun."

Of course he knew that, but the side of him that had been shunned and ridiculed and been the black sheep as well as the punching bag of the spirit world for three centuries was still a bit sensitive and vulnerable to harsh words.

Something must have shown on his face, slipped through his immaculate mask of nonchalance, for Bunny hopped closer and ruffled his hair.

He mentally shook himself to get rid of any lingering thoughts about his years spent in solitude. It never did any good to dwell upon those dark memories of the past. Instead, he gave the Easter Bunny a small but perky smile and swatted the furry paw away playfully. "Yeah yeah, I know."

He really had forgotten about North's Christmas party though. The big man himself had weeks ago haltered him in his retreat out the perpetual open window in the Globe Room by placing a rather large hand on his small shoulder, then proceeded to tell him of the Guardians annual Christmas celebration come Christmas Eve when he had finished his yearly round delivering presents to the nice kids. (Apparently, the Guardian of Wonder had stopped giving coal to naughty children ages ago, he wasn't quite sure what he felt about that).

He had decided then and there that he would not attend. He had told the Guardian of Wonder that he might be occupied with delivering snow across the northern hemisphere, it was his season after all and many countries needed a touchup of snow. But North had him promising to at least try to be available. He didn't tell the Cossack that he wouldn't come, that he might have other traditions and people to celebrate with.

Sure he'd always wanted to celebrate the holiday among people (spirits) that could see and touch him, but after three hundred Christmases spent alone or with his imaginary snowpeople family, the thought of being surrounded by friends and, dear he even think it, _family_ , scared him. He was painfully afraid of screwing up, of messing up and destroying everything he'd just gained. He never wanted to be alone again, and if keeping his distance, however much it hurt, would make it less likely that he would ruin everything or at least less of a chance of screwing up, he do it, gladly.

How Bunny had managed to track him down was a mystery to him. For the past two weeks he'd been hitting up every country in the northern hemisphere and doused them with snow and blizzards. He'd been careful to spread his trail this way and that to throw the Pooka of his scent.

He'd arrived back in Burgess only a few hours ago when the Easter Guardian suddenly popped forth out of nowhere. He knew the old Pooka's nose was extraordinary but this was (he really hated to admit it) impressive, and slightly scary.

"Ya' ready ta' go, Frostbite?"

"Eh, Bunny, I'm no—"

"Yer' not getting' out'ta this one, Frostbite." Aster interrupted, leaving no room for negotiations, voice stern and determined. "If I hav'ta be there, then by gosh yer' sure as hell are too."

"But—"

"If ya' don't come willingly I just might hav'ta drag yer scrawny but there, no ifs, ands or buts about it, Frost."

Jack sighed in resignation. There really was no way out of this. He fiddled with his staff, nervously shifting it between pale fingers.

"Hop to it, Snowflake." He gave Jack a less than gentle shove, sending the slight teen stumbling forward, barely managing to catch himself, his staff the only thing keeping him from falling on his face for the second time that day.

He glared back at the Guardian of Hope, giving him the most irked look he could muster.

Bunny only snorted, clearly not impressed.

He hopped forward a couple of steps before thumping the ground twice with a furry hind-leg. The Pooka waited for him to jump in first before following suit, the hole closing behind them and leaving a bright red poppy as the only evidence of their previous presence.

When he stumbled out of the hole, courtesy of a very smug Bunnymund, it was pitch black, Polar night in full effect. It had been twilight when they left Burgess, but that didn't mean much here at this time of the year where the sun's orbit's continuously was under the horizon. The moon hung full and bright in a sky littered with twinkling stars. Jack had always liked the sky regardless of the moon's silent treatment, never answering his questions and leaving him lost and alone for three hundred years, silently mocking him in all his brightness.

"Let's go Snowflake." Bunny rumbled behind him, tone slightly annoyed and impatient, his furry frame visibly shaking at the arctic temperatures.

He could see North's workshop in the distance, the warm lighting pouring out the many windows illuminating the darkness of the night and looking so inviting it was a struggle not to take off right then and there and leave Bunny to catch up.

He was still slightly wary of his allowed entrance to North's workshop. He often found himself trying to sneak in through windows and locked doors even though he was explicitly told to come and go as he pleased. He constantly waited for one of the yetis, presumably Phil, to grab him and throw him out yet again.

 _Old habits die hard_ , he thought as he looked fondly at the twinkling lights. He was half expecting to wake up any minute to this being all a very long and wishful dream. It would be more like a nightmare when he thought about it. To have everything he'd ever dreamed of ripped away come morning would be more than he could handle. It was one thing to fantasize and wish for things you've never had and experienced. It was a whole other story to suddenly lose everything after finally achieving friendship and kindness. To finally belong somewhere. To finally have a _family_.

A furry paw on his shoulder was the only warning he got before Bunny pushed him with enough force for his momentum to send him stumbling a couple of steps forward. "Ya' can daydream some other time, Frostbite. It's bloody freezing out here."

He childishly blew a raspberry as the wind lifted him from the ground, tugging at his clothes and ruffling his hair endearingly. "Race ya' rabbit!" He yelled before taking off, whooping in joy as the familiar rush of adrenaline shot through him, the wind brushing against him playfully as it boosted his speed and flung him around with flips and twirls.

"I've told ya' before, Snowcone," He turned his head slightly to look back at Bunny, now on all fours and ready to bound after him, a nice, wide smirk on his face. "Ya' don't wanna' race a rabbit." Then he took off. The Guardian of Hope was a grey blur as he shot passed, leaving Jack struggling against the power of the Pooka's tailwind.

"We can't let the Easter Kangaroo beat us, now can we, Wind?"

The wind was a living thing beside him, playfully and eagerly tugging at his clothes and pulling at his limps. It brushed against his face and he could almost feel cool fingers running through his hair as it whispered in his ear.

Then he was off, hot on Bunny's tail. With the Wind's assistance, he quickly overtook the rabbit. Exhilaration made him holler in joy and excitement. He loved racing with the Wind. Up in the air, cocooned in the wind's familiar embrace, he could forget about the pain, the loneliness, the shunning and ignoring. Up here, he was free, safe and unconcerned, and happy.

"Jack! Watch—"

Bunny's yell came a second too late. He barely saw the door approaching before barreling head first into it, staff slipping from his fingers and hitting the snow-covered ground before him. A second later, he too fell unceremoniously onto the hard-packed snow with a soft thud and a grunt. He rubbed his head, wincing when his fingers brushed over a particularly nasty bump, face scrunching up in pain.

Then paws were at his back, shoulders and face, gently supporting him and scrutinizing him for injuries, a worried look was etched in the Warrior Pooka's features.

"Ya' al'right, mate?"

Jack brushed him off, trying to stand on his own. "I'm fine."

He staggered a few steps, head spinning and vision hazy, black spots danced across his vision. Bunny caught him when he clumsily and uncoordinatedly stumbled over his own feet. He pitched forward into Aster's chest and the elder Guardian placed his paws on his shoulders to stabilize him.

"I got'cha', Jackie."

Gentle paws prodded his skin, slowly examining his head. A small yelp escaped his lips when Bunny touched a sore spot. "Ya' got quite a nasty bump on the head." He sat back on his haunches, keen eyes wandering over him until locking on his face. "Ya' got a really nice shiner too." He eyed the blooming of blue and purple underneath the pale skin with a sympathetic look in his jade green eyes. "That's gonna' hurt fer' a while."

Jack simply shrugged. "I've had worse." And he had. Learning to ride the wind hadn't exactly been pretty. It brushed against him now, gently caressing his throbbing face as if trying to apologize for letting him hit the door. He raised his hand, twirling his fingers about in the air to pet the arctic breeze, assuring it that no one was to blame. Accidents happens, after all. The northern wind gave one final gust before it moved elsewhere, though he knew it would remain close enough just in case he was to call on it again.

Aster shook his head, giving the youth his best exasperated look. "Why doesn't tha' surprise me?"

Jack chuckled softly, looking very much like the young, mischievous teenager he was. He looked up at the elder Guardian, a boyish glint in his ice blue eyes and lips lifting in a very familiar lopsided grin. "'Cuz it's me?"

"Seriously though, Snowflake." Bunny's sudden change of tone had him looking up at the Guardian of Hope, one eyebrow furrowed. "Ya' need to be wee bit more careful. Yer' lucky ya' didn't break somethin'."

This time he had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah yeah, I know, Cottontail."

"Jack—"

"Jeez 'Roo, I didn't know you cared so much." He teased, not liking the sudden tense and awkward atmosphere.

At the irked expression on Bunny's face at the nickname, he could tell the Pooka was about to take the bait. However, no sharp remark left the elder Guardian's mouth. Instead, Bunny breathed deeply as if to calm himself. Then spring green eyes met bright blue and Jack prepared himself for what was to come. Bunny never backed away from an argument, fight or roughhousing. He had to be planning something.

Then he _snickered_ and Jack couldn't keep his jaw from dropping open. _Bunny_ didn't _snicker_. A foreboding shiver raced up and down his spine. This couldn't be good.

"Just wait 'till Tooth sees that shiner, mate." Bunny looked too smug, so very pleased with himself Jack would have bristled with annoyance had he not heard the elder's next words. "Yer' gonna' be mothered fer weeks."

Jack's eyes widened hilariously, his smile faltering before vanishing completely, a grimace taking its place upon his young features. He had forgotten about the Guardian of Memories. His head whirled around, panicked sapphire orbs searching for his staff. He ignored the rush of pain caused by the sudden and sharp movement.

He spotted the staff on the ground not too far away. He bend down to pick it up, but the wooden weapon was snatched before his long fingers could curl around the shaft.

"Nah mate, yer' not gettin' outta' this so easily."

"Bunnyyy." He whined, giving the Pooka his best doe eyes.

"Ah, no mate, not this time."

 _Shit._

He quickly threw up his hood, hoping it would be enough to hide the ugly contusion marring his cheek.

"That's not gonna' work, Frostbite." Bunny chuckled again, this time with a hint of sympathy. "Just take it like a man."

"But I'm not a man," He protested weakly, trying but ultimately failing at grabbing his staff, now held firmly in Bunny's paw. "I'm a kid, remember?"

"Just give up Frost, ya' ain't gonna' blow us off this time, mate."

Jack sighed dramatically, both hands stuffed into his hoodie-pocket.

"Ya' know how I feel abou' Christmas, Frostbite, so suck it up and hop to it."

It wasn't that he didn't want to attend. He was just really worried about messing up. What if he ruined Christmas too? He never wanted to be on the receiving end of those disappointed, saddened looks ever again.

Besides, why should this year's Christmas be any different from the ones before? He was meant to be alone. Meant to spend each year on the other side of the windowpane. Going to North's a risk not worth taking. Everything was finally beginning to look up, to change for the better. He was not ready for it all to be taken away from him. And if a Christmas spent alone was going to prevent him from losing what he has gained, he'd be willing to spend the rest of his Christmases by his lonesome.

Bunny nudged him then, bringing him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Don't go there, Frostbite."

Surprised, he looked up at the Guardian of Hope. Wistful blue eyes met reassuring green. "We're not goin' anywhere, Jackie."

Jack gave Bunny a small, grateful smile, some of the shadows of the past diminishing from cerulean orbs.

"Now, let's see what good ol' jolly St. Nick has in store fer' us this year, eh mate?"

"Can I please have my staff back now? I think you've held it hostage long enough." He eyed his conduit, carefully held in one paw, now completely thawed and looking just like any other piece of old flimsy wood. The sheer frailty of the shepherd's crook made his insides churn and twist painfully with concern. It could so easily be broken. Pitch had proven that rather harshly.

Bunny must have caught something in his gaze belying his calm demeanor and casual tone of voice because the Pooka's grip loosened. "Ya' can have it if ya' promise not ta' be a piker and fly off. I don't fancy havin' ta' track yer' frozen behind down again taday'. Yer' right hard ta' track, ya' know that?"

Jack simply shrugged and smiled proudly, one hand outstretched. At Bunny's stern, unrelenting glare, he sighed loudly. "I promise." He wiggled his fingers. "Now give me my staff."

Bunny gave him a suspicious look before all but throwing the weapon into his waiting hand.

Pale fingers wound around the ancient wood and all the tension left his diminutive frame, shoulders slumping and set jaw relaxing. Delicate frost patterns sprung from his touch and danced over the flimsy wood, freezing and hardening it once more.

Bunny held the door for him and gently ushered him inside, grumbling under his breath about the blasted cold and missing spring or something the like. He chuckled softly, fingers tightening around the now frost covered shepherd's crook, relieved to feel the age-old, gnarled wood underneath callused fingertips.

They walked in silence through the mostly empty hallways. The stray yetis barely deigned them worthy a greeting grabble when they passed in a hurry to get home after a long day of intense work.

When they entered the Globe Room, he could only stare in awe, mouth agape in astonishment and wonder, and stunned blue eyes growing wider and wider.

North's workshop had been completely changed into a Christmas wonderland with twinkling lights and Christmas ornaments hanging from every available nook and cranny. It was breathtaking and everything he'd ever dreamed North's workshop would look like during Christmas.

Bunny ushered Jack along, barely giving the boy a chance to catch his breath and recover from the overwhelming emotions surging inside him at the thought of being part of a _real_ Christmas celebration with _real_ friends. It was a bit too much and his steps faltered slightly when his fears suddenly whispered that this might all be a dream. It echoed in his head. What _if_ this was all a dream and he would soon awaken in a snowdrift by his lake, still abandoned and still very much alone? Before he could back away and run, Bunny was there beside him and one warm paw gently squeezed his bony shoulder reassuringly, and he could hear the words that was not spoken aloud: ' _It's real. We're real_. _And we're never leavin' ya', Frostbite._ '

He gave the old Pooka a small, shaky but thankful smile, and with more confidence than he was feeling, he let himself be led towards the room they previously had designated to be their living room while visiting North just to hang out.

Bunny stopped in front of the door but instead of opening it, he turned around and looked at him with a soft expression on his features. Jack shifted uncertainly, not knowing where this was going.

"I didn't get to say it before with ya' tryin' ta' knock yerself silly," Bunny said suddenly, green eyes sparkling with humor and something else, could it be pride? "Yer' pretty fast, kid."

Frost slowly crept across his cheeks and the skin underneath turned a pretty shade of light pearly purple. He ducked his head, letting his snowy fringes cover his eyes. He wasn't used to the whole complement-thing, having only been on the receiving end of sneering and jeering, cursing and mocking words.

"Eh, thanks?" This time he shifted and rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

Bunny just shook his head before turning back to the door. "Let's go Frostbite."

The first thing he saw when shoved through the doorway leading to the living room was a pearlescent blur heading towards him and before he could so much as brace himself, Tooth slammed into him. He staggered backwards a couple of steps, arms raised by his sides in surprise and lack of knowledge of what to do with them or where to place them. He briefly recalled the first time Tooth hugged him. With a fond, happy smile, he followed the memory and let his hands gently settle on the fairy's slim waist.

After a short moment, she pulled away, a warm smile grazing her feminine lips. "You came!"

Then the smile all but vanished from her petite face, a frown taking it place. "What happened to your face!?" She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

He averted his eyes, feeling a nice blush color his cheeks again. "A collision with the front door…"

The next thing he knew, delicate fingers were forcing their way inside his mouth, carefully scrutinizing and prodding each and every one of his teeth.

"Too—th" He slurred, trying to tear himself away from the fairy's strong grip.

"Relax Sheila." Bunny came to his rescue, an amused smile playing on his face. "The kid's all fine and dandy."

The Guardian of Memories reluctantly backed away, finally giving him room to breathe again. He sent Bunny small, thankful smile.

"Jack! Moy mal'chik, come here!" Then, he was pulled into another hug, this time smothered into a large chest by beefy arms.

"North," He protested weakly, lungs constricting, "can't breathe."

"Let the kid go North, I didn't drag 'im all the way here just fer' ya' ta' kill him."

The Guardian of Wonder released him with a sheepish look in bright, jolly blue eyes.

Flickering golden sand flashed in his peripheral vision and he turned to look at the Dreamweaver.

"Good to see you too, Sandy." The golden man smiled kindly, Dreamsand images flashing over his small peaks of hair.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Sandy formed a series of new signs. A group of people, them by the looks of it. A clock. A snowflake. The group of four becoming five. A happy face. Then a question mark.

"No, I wasn't planning to come, you see—"

A rush of signs interrupted him, appearing and disappearing almost too fast for him to comprehend the meaning behind the signs.

"Yeah, I know it's tradition but—"

Sandy huffed, puffing out a cloud of Dreamsand. Then he floated up to place a small hand on his shoulder, warm amber eyes meeting his. The first five images were signed again. The original Guardians. The clock. The snowflake. The group of four becoming five. The happy face. He repeated them, over and over and over again as if assuring himself that he got the message.

His heart swelled with warmth once more. They _wanted_ him. They had _waited_ for _him_. No one had ever been waiting for him before.

Sandy started up a new line of Dreamsand. A group of four people, whom he now knew to be the Big Four. A sad face. A snowflake. A happy face.

He felt suddenly overwhelmed and breathless.

They _needed_ him. Not for his powers. Not as a tool. And not as a means to went their hatred or anger. They wanted him for _him_. No strings attached. Without him, they were _unhappy_. How could that be? For three hundred years, he'd been shunned and told that the world would've been a better place without him. For three centuries, he'd been seen as nothing but a troublemaker, a good for nothing, mischievous teenage hellion out of control and whom only made a mess wherever he went and wrecked everything he touched. He was the sole bringer of cold and death.

Now, there was finally _someone_ who cared. Someone to offer the words craved for what seemed to be forever. Words of love and affection, of friends and family.

"Sandy's right, Jack." North cut in, bringing him out of his musings. "We only weesh we could give back to you all that you have geeven us." He placed a large hand on his shoulder, his other hand was used to gently lift his chin back up. Blue eyes met blue. "You have made us family, Jack Frost."

Unbidden, tears began to slowly trickle down his cheeks, some freezing half-way, others making a wet, partially frozen trail down to his chin before falling like hailstones to the red carpeted floor.

Didn't they know that simply being there was enough? That their kind words and warm affections were so much more than he'd could ever dream of? Didn't they know that he was grateful for them? That they now meant the world to him? Didn't any of them realize that? Without them, he'd still be alone. Without them, right now, he'd be sitting by his lake making snowpeople as substitute family after having spent the day peaking in through windows and imagining being part of the happy family behind the glassy barrier.

Small, petite arms encircled his neck and he was gently pressed against Tooth warm, feathery chest. "Oh, Sweet Tooth." She cooed, tenderly running her fingers through his hair.

Before he could revert to his old habit of shying away, another set of arms wrapped around him. This time, tiny hands rubbed his back as Sandy hugged him from behind. Then North enveloped them all, naughty and nice wounding around all three Guardians.

"Bunny, you too." North snapped and Jack could only imagine the look on the Kangaroo's face. He suppressed a snicker, his tears long forgotten.

Bunny grumbled, but joined them nonetheless, reluctantly throwing furry arms around the four other Guardians, though more out of habit than anything.

It was his first group hug in three hundred years, and he found he liked them quite much. It was warm, yet not immediately stifling and uncomfortable, but a tender, loving warmth he seemed too never get enough off. Never in his three centuries of solitude had he experienced something so full of affection and love. It almost made dizzy. Tears pressed at be back of his eyes, but this time he managed to blink them away.

Then they were backing away from him, though only a couple of steps, enough not to make him feel cramped and tense.

"Now we celebrate!" North boomed loudly, bright blue eyes sparkling in merriment.

They were so unceremoniously ushered out of the room and toward the dining room where the remaining yetis had set the massive table with all kinds of amazing and different dishes, artfully laid out.

Jack's eyes widened at the sight. He'd never seen that much food before, and certainly not all on one table. Without second thought, he took off and hovered over the table, taking in all the details with a wide smile of astonishment and excitement. So, this was what a real Christmas dinner looked like up close, no wonder the kids were so excited about it.

When he turned to look back at the other Guardians, he found them staring fondly at him. His cheeks frosted and he averted his eyes, quickly dropping down to the ground again.

Before he could even think about fleeing in embarrassment, a large hand enveloped his shoulder. North gently guided him over to a chair. He squeezed his shoulder before releasing him and taking the seat next to him.

"There iz something on ze table for everyone, da? Eat up comrades! And cheers for Christmas!"

The others settled around the table and immediately began to pluck at the different dishes. Jack hesitated slightly before reaching for the nearest plate. Sadly, he wouldn't be able to eat much, his stomach not used to such rich, nutritious food. He'd never in his three hundred years eaten anything the like of what laid before him. He couldn't even remember when he'd last eaten anything besides frozen berries that the snow and frost hadn't managed to kill yet.

He decided to try as many dishes as he could possibly manage, opting to nibble instead of stuffing his face. This way, he could taste so much more of the mouthwatering foods before him.

He'd been so focused on tasting everything that he'd forgotten about the others. Sheepishly, he looked up from under the cover of his white locks and quickly sighed with relief. The original Guardians hadn't been paying attention to him, they were currently in a deep discussion about holidays and traditions.

Rather than try to join their lively conversation, he chose to watch the four interact instead. This was what being a part of a family felt like. After three hundred years without any recollections and memories of even having a family, he'd forgotten the feeling of belonging, of affection and love.

After all those years spent so very alone and miserable, after all those Christmases hoping for presents, for company and friends, and imagining something better than a family made of snow and frost, of wishing for someone, anyone to see him, to talk to him and believe in him. He now had _everything_ he'd ever dreamt about.

"Ya' a'right, Snowflake?"

He jumped, taken by surprise. He blinked wildly for a second, trying to focus on Bunny's question. "I'm fine." He said, way too fast not to be noticed by the ever perceptive Guardian of Hope sitting beside him.

"Ya' Sure?"

He nodded, giving the Pooka a small smile. "Just thinking." At Bunny's doubtful look, he quickly added, "Nothing to worry about 'Roo."

Bunny didn't look convinced, but thankfully let it slide. He wasn't yet ready to confide those thoughts to them. There were things they were better off not knowing. For both their sakes.

Once the unforgettable feast was over, they headed back to the living room. Jack lingered, falling slightly behind the others. Bunny noticed his absent, steps faltering, and finally stopping in mid-stride, opting to wait for the overwhelmed youth.

It didn't take long before he noticed Bunnymund standing a little ways away, clearly waiting and looking at him with a uncharacteristic patient and affectionate, friendly expression on his features.

"Come'ere Frostbite." He said fondly, and Jack could only stare at the Pooka with slight surprise and suspicion. He let it slide and made his way over to the elder Guardian.

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, and when they reached the partially open door, Bunny once again faltered. Jack frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion at the Pooka's odd behavior.

Then Bunny seemed to give himself a light shake before reaching out a furry paw and ruffled his white, windswept locks fondly. "Merry Christmas, Jackie."

Jack spluttered, taken aback. But before he could say anything, Bunny had already joined the others, leaving him gaping in the doorway.

A small but genuinely happy smile grazed blue-tinted lips. It wasn't lost on him that he hadn't felt the need to shy away from Bunny's touch. Did that mean he was slowly getting used to others touching him? He'd lost count of how many times the other Guardians had tried to get closer to him, slowly infiltrating his personal space and ever so slowly tearing away his boundaries and erasing his no-touch rule. And he couldn't be happier. Three hundred years without affection, touch and love was a very, very long time.

"Stop lingerin' in the doorway like a creeper and get yer' frozen arse in here, Frostbite."

He entered the room, an amused grin plastered on his face, a retort already leaving his mouth. "Coming from someone who stalks unsuspecting victims in the night before rudely stuffing them in a sack. Kidnapping is crime you know."

"Not my idea mate."

"That's no ex—"

It was then that he caught sight of the grand tree standing tall and luscious in the middle of the room. How had he _not_ noticed _that_ before?

North certainly didn't do Christmas half-way.

The tree was _huge_ and so beautifully decorated it almost took his breath away. It put his Christmas tree from two and a half century ago to shame. The sheer mass of the fir dwarfed the usually large room. Magnificent Christmas ornaments hung from every branch in different shapes and sizes. The many little lights twinkled enthrallingly and the large, skillfully crafted star at the apex made the fir all the more beautiful.

"Now Jack," North said, clearly trying to get his attention away from both the tree and Bunnymund. "I got something for you."

It was really hard to tear his eyes away from the breathtaking tree. He'd never seen anything like it before. He wanted to examine the intricately carved ornaments so badly. He could see some of them were made of ice and his fingers itched to touch them. But he reluctantly forced his eyes away from the twinkling fir and back at North who was gesturing to something across the room near the fireplace. Jack followed the man's arm with bright, curious blue eyes.

By the far wall, adjunct to the tree, a healthy fire was burning in the grand hearth. But that was not what caught his attention. For just inches above the flickering flames hung four Christmas stockings brimming with sweets. He could see candy canes poking out and he could almost smell the fresh scent of mint emanating from them.

"Here, this is yours."

North walked up to him after having retrieved one of them and handed him a pale blue Christmas stocking trimmed with white fur and decorated neatly with tiny detailed snowflakes. He tentatively reached out to take it, staring at it as emotions battled inside his heart. He could never seem to forget the previous times he had looked inside his homemade, scruffy stocking on Christmas morning, only to find it empty. He could still clearly recall the desolate feeling as he gazed down into the unfilled, worn stocking, hoping to find something that just wasn't there. It was just as empty and cold as the years before.

North must have guessed from the look on his face what occupied his thoughts, for the Cossack placed a large hand on his shoulder, dwarfing his already small frame.

"I know we can't ever make up for the past three hundred years. Eet's a little too late for dat. But vhat we can do iz make sure that from now on, you are never to be alone again. Vill you give us the chance to do dat, Jack?"

Jack looked up into North's big, earnest eyes. Emotions raged inside him. The whole day had been one long roller-coaster ride emotions wise.

He didn't trust his voice enough not to break, so he settled with nodding and gave the elder Guardian a small, but genuine smile. Before he could react, North had enveloped him in a tight hug.

He never noticed when the others left the room. One moment they were all there, the next he was alone with North.

That he was _alone_ with North on Christmas Eve did not go unnoticed. Oh, the cruel irony of reality. It only took one revenge fueled Nightmare King for him to finally have his wish of spending Christmas with the holiday spirit himself to come true. Had it not been for Pitch Black, he'd most certainly still be all alone and ignored and peeking through frosted windowpanes until tears that refused to relent obscured his vision. Maybe he should pay the shade a visit some time just to thank him. That would really rile him up.

He gave himself a light shake and focused back on North who was looking at him with a thoughtful, secretive expression.

"There's one more thing, Jack."

North gestured to the Christmas tree and he noticed the wrapped packages stacked underneath the thick branches. He could feel his eyes widen as he stared and stared and stared.

Slowly, he walked over and kneeled down. He looked uncertainly up at North. Was he allowed to touch the presents? He'd never been before. The Guardian of Wonder nodded, smiling encouragingly and urging him to proceed with a small hand gesture. Tentatively, he reached out, hands shaking slightly, and ever so carefully picked up the one saying: _To Jack, from Santa_.

For a moment, flashes of memories of three centuries worth of Christmases spent waiting for a legend, a saint, a jolly man, a Guardian that would never come danced before his eyes. With a violent shudder, he forced the recollection away, and with blurry eyes looked down at the second gift given to him in three hundred years.

The present in his hands was heavy and neatly wrapped in a baby blue gift-wrap and tied decoratively with a silver hued gift ribbon. He ripped the paper with trembling, pale fingers.

The book was thick and bound in fine leather though it was bearing signs of wear and tear. For a second or two he stared uncomprehendingly as his fingers traced the intricate calligraphy on the cover spelling the words Nice and Naughty List.

North's soft chuckle made him look up at the older Guardian, whom was gazing down at him with a warm, tender expression, tattooed arms lax at his sides.

"Just as promised, da?" North said warmly with a knowing smile. "We're wiping clean the slate." Then he knelt next to him and offered him a golden pen he pulled from his pocket. "Go on," he urged, nodding first at the pen and then the thick book resting in his lap, "erase your name from Naughty List."

His vision grew a little blurry with tears. This time, he allowed the tears to fall, let them spill down his pale cheeks, leaving visible frozen tracks. He smiled through the tears, a bright, happy grin plastered on his face.

After three centuries on top of the Naughty List, after three hundred years of holding the record he was ready to jump ship and let someone else have the title, if only for a little while.

With visibly trembling fingers, he carefully picked up the pen and flipped the book to the midpoint, already knowing that the Naughty List would start there. Trepidation coursed through him like adrenaline when he turned the page. There on the very top, highlighted in red, was _his_ name. _Jack Frost_.

He hesitated, pen hovering inches over his name.

North squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, silently giving him confirmation to go on. He looked up at the larger man, unshed tears obscuring his vision. A light squeeze had him turning back to the heavy book, eyes lingering at the red print spelling his name. He inhaled deeply, trying to summon his courage before lightly tracing the pen tip over the red letters. The line was uneven, a testament to his shaking hands.

North large hand was warm and supportive on his small shoulder, the warmth for once a welcomed sensation. The elder Guardian reached over his other shoulder and leafed through the book backwards until he found the last page of the Nice List. Jack's grip on the golden pen unconsciously tightened as he once more let it hover over the partially unwritten page. He clumsily wrote his name, blotches blooming where he pressed the tip a little too hard against the thin paper. He'd written his name countless times before in the snow or on frosted windowpanes in a desperate effort to get someone, anyone, to notice, see or believe in him. It was all in vain. No one ever noticed, saw or believed in Jack Frost.

He stared at the letters now engraved on the Nice List. _His name_. On the _Nice List_. He felt the tears he'd managed to push back, as not to ruin the flimsy pages, prickle in his eyes. He gently placed the book and the pen on the floor before turning around to face the jolly, fatherly man behind him, his hand still on the curve of his shoulder.

Then he did something he hadn't done in over three hundred years, he flung himself into another person's arms, icy tears flowing unrestrained down his pale cheeks and landing like tiny hailstones on the carpeted the floor. Three hundred years of pent up emotions of disappointment, bitterness, jealousy, self-loathing and hopelessness finally having reached the breaking point.

North gently encircled him with large arms and pulled him tighter.

"Merry Christmas, Jack Frost." He murmured softly, gently rubbing soothing circles on his back.

This was North's way of apologizing for three hundred Christmases spent in solitude. It would take more than one perfect Christmas to fix three hundred years of abandonment, and they both knew it. Yet, this was a start at mending the yawning gap between them and even though it was three centuries too late, Jack couldn't be happier than what he was right now. He had a gained a new family, a family that cared for him and included him, talked to him and wanted to hear and respected his opinion and wishes.

A family. _His_ family. There would be no more Christmases spent alone with his imaginary family of snowpeople. It would be no more Christmases looking through windows and playing pretend.

Despite his tears, the smile never left his face. He was finally, after all these years of doubt and loneliness, bitterness and indignation, part of a family.

North would never forget him again.

…

They called him North, so he called him that too.

* * *

 **Please review and tell me what you think! I'm really looking forward to your comments. Was it good, bad or maybe something in-between? I'm sorry if the characters are a little OOC, but I tried my best. It was a hard one to write. The words didn't flow as naturally as they usually do, so it's not as good as I hoped it would be, but it's something at least.**

 **Thank you all so, so, so very much for all the reviews and favorites and followers! You are amazing!**

 **Please, pretty please, leave a little review! It would really brighten my day. It's Christmas after all, you know.**

 **MillyOnFanfics: I'm really glad you liked it, and your idea is great! I will definitely use it, so stay tuned :P. I hope you enjoyed this as well, and I can't wait to hear what you have to say!**

 **AyameKitsune: Thank you SO much for the review! I really appreciate it, and I'm so happy you liked the last chapter! Hope you like this one too. Please comment and tell me what you think. Can't wait to hear it!**

 **MuffinOverLord8: Wow! Now that's a complement if I ever heard one! Thanks so much! Thanks for the suggestion! I will definitely use it! So stay tuned :P.**

 **I wish you all a very merry Christmas! Hope you all have a wonderful day with lots of delicious foods and sweets. I'm off to stuff my face with some good old Norwegian traditional Christmas dinner. See ya!**


	12. To be Seen

**Happy New Year everyone! Hope you had a wonderful celebration and a fantastic Christmas!**

 **I should give credit where credit is due, shouldn't I? This little chappy is for the ever amazing Barracuda57 who so very long ago gave the brilliant suggestion that I should write something about Jack and animals. So sorry about the delay! I really hope you like it! Can't wait to hear from you!**

 **WinterCrystal1009, I'm working on your suggestion and the first chapter is almost ready. Hopefully, it will be up in a day or two. Really sorry about the long wait!**

 **MillyOnFanfics, I haven't forgotten your suggestions of writing a memory arc and about the Bennett children convincing their mom that the Guardians are real. Just know it's underway.**

 **That goes for your suggestion too, MuffinOverLord8. I will write a story about Jack and dolphins. The idea is just too cute to let go unwritten.**

 **Thank you all for your patience! Please continue to bear with my slow progress!**

 **Now, without further ado:**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: To be Seen**

He sat huddled against a tree, knees drawn tight and thin arms hugging them to his chest. His staff was clutched in one hand, lying diagonally across his shins.

Why couldn't anyone see him?

He'd been walked through _again_ today. This time while playing pretend with some children that had come to skate on his lake. He'd been so careful too, taking extra care to keep his distance from the unbalanced, stumbling and flailing kids, to not slide too close, and asking the wind to keep them just out of his reach. But somehow one young boy had managed slip through his precautions and had simply skated straight through him while laughing with utter glee and happiness, fun written across his freckled, grinning face.

He may have gotten used to people not hearing him and not speaking to him. He may have gotten used to being shunned by everyone, being leered and jeered at and ignored. He may even have gotten used to the hostility of the other spirits, the violence and the hurtful, seething words.

However, he had _not_ gotten used the feeling blooming in the wake of humans walking through him, of being invisible and so completely and utterly alone. That empty, cold, lonely feeling of being transparent and non-existent, was something he would never get used to.

Each and every experience was just as nerve-racking and painful as the one before, and he was often left gasping for breath, skinny arms hugging his scrawny chest, pale finger clawing at the brown leather of his cape just to somehow ground him, bony shoulders hunched in the sheer agony of his non-existence. Sometimes he even shivered.

This time, when the kid had phased right through him, blatantly stating his intangibleness, utterly and completely unaware, he'd dropped his staff and clutched his chest as an empty pain shot through him, making him gasp and shiver. And for the first time in his life, he'd felt thoroughly freezing cold.

He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, pale fingers whitening further as their grip on the wooden staff hardened, attenuated form trembling at the sheer power of the memory.

He had overheard people talking about feeling cold and complaining that the winter he shepherd was too bitter, too frigid and unpleasant. However, the feeling of being cold, of freezing and being chilled was lost on him from the moment he rose from the frozen lake. Jack Frost did not feel cold. But he thought he understood the concept of being cold. He'd seen people shivering because of the arctic air or an icy breeze, and he'd witnessed a man whose body was wrecked with shivers as he slept in an ally in New York. But the cold never caused him to palpitate. The cold winds only caressed him affectionately and soothed his fevered skin whenever he overexerted himself, overheated or was left broken and bleeding after a particularly nasty run-in with some other spirits, be that sprites, Elementals or Seasonals.

He was the personification of all that was winter: of frost and ice, of snow and sleet, of freezing cold weather and sub-zero temperatures. He was meant for neither feeling cold nor shivering from the cold.

Yet, for less than an hour ago, he'd been both numb with cold, feeling as freezing as the frost he spread and shivering with bone-deep trembles that racked throughout his thin frame.

He hated it.

Yet, he would never stop playing with the children. Seeing their carefree, joyous expressions whenever he gave them a snow day or sprinkled a little snow in their gardens, just enough for a small snowball fight between siblings, made his miserable, lonely existence seem brighter and less empty and meaningless. When he was with the kids, he was almost…happy. And even though being invisible and walked through was almost unbearable and immensely painful, he would never abandon them. He was a winter spirit, _the_ Winter Spirit. The bringer of snow, ice and frost, of snow days and fun-times.

Snow had begun to leisurely fall around him, and at the cool sensation at his back, he could tell the trunk had been covered in his frost. He'd yet to achieve total control of his Winter Powers. Sometimes, in accordance to his emotions, it would leak out as bursts of frost, cold or snow and paint whatever surface he was standing on in his element.

The sharp crunching of dead leaves had his head snapping up from it resting place on his knees. He kept deathly still, just watching the underbrush with keen, narrowed silver-blue eyes; however, his fingers tightened around his staff reflexively.

He usually wasn't alarmed by sudden noises in the forest, having grown accustomed to them in his many decades dwelling in the woods by his lake. But this time, the silence that quickly followed seemed unnatural and it had him on edge. He had never been fond of the void that was left when the birds stopped chirping, it always signaled the arrival of unwanted yet welcomed company. The only sound was that of the wind blowing gently, rustling bare branches and whistling through hollow trees. He strained his ears, back rigid and ready to move swiftly should he need to.

Then he heard it again, something was moving through the brushwood. A snap was quickly followed by other crunches in a pattern very similar to footsteps, and he stiffened even more, sharp icy eyes closely watching the surrounding area looking for anything out of place, pale fingers tightening around the shepherd's crook now held at his side and ready to be wielded at a moment's notice. Was the other Seasonals coming for him again or maybe some of the other Elementals or sprites whom frequented him customarily? However much he welcomed their cruel and violent encounters – it was a form of acknowledgement after all, and he so desperately longed for someone to notice him – he had never looked forward to the pain.

He made to stand, ready to defend himself should he need to. Even though the regular beatings kept him grounded and prevented him from slipping into a catatonia of loneliness and isolation, he always put up a small fight, just enough for them to keep coming back and not abandon him like all the others. He knew it was twisted and sick, but he couldn't help it. He needed the bruises, the dislocations and broken bones to remind himself of his own existence, to remind himself that someone out there knew he was real, that he wasn't invisible and only liable to being walked through, shunned and ignored.

When a common white-tailed deer poked its head out of the greenery not too far from his resting place, he halted his movements and remained seated, watching the deer as it walked out from undergrowth to nibble at the frosted ground.

He shifted slowly, mindful of the skittish animal below. He slowly pushed himself up from his huddled posture, staff now held in a relaxed grip. When the deer, a doe it would seem, didn't seem to be alerted at his sudden stirring other than a small flicker of furry ears, he carefully jumped off the branch and let the wind guide him gently to the ground as to not scare the animal away. His bare feet soundlessly touched the snow dusted ground.

He made no footprints as he slowly moved closer to the easily frightened animal, leaving the snow as pristine and unblemished as if he'd never walked over it. When the doe suddenly and abruptly raised her head, ears swirling in his direction, he halted and waited in nervous anticipation, hoping the animal wouldn't bolt.

Then he blanched and almost staggered backwards. Was it possible… could it…hear him? Or feel his presence? Or maybe even… _see_ him?

He'd never purposely given the idea that it was possible for animals to see him any thought at all. He'd always been obsessed with getting people, humans and spirits alike, to see him, to talk to him, to play with him, acknowledge his existence in some way or another. He'd never even let his mind wander to that of the animal kingdom before. Sure he'd come in contact with them during his many years of solitude, but the stray cats and dogs he'd encountered always seemed wary of everything and the wild animals and birds were ever so skittish. Besides, he'd always observed wild flocks of deer and wolves from a distance, never getting close enough to be noticed for reasons unknown to him even now. He suddenly felt very stupid and incredibly irritated at his shortsightedness.

He gave himself a slight shake to bring his brooding mind back to the present.

During his little inner monologue, the doe had lowered her head to the ground again, velvety muzzle rubbing at the frosted soil, pushing away the snow to look for sustenance beneath. With a new incentive, he crept closer, knees bending to make himself less threatening, heart hammering with both fear and apprehension. His eyes never left the deer, blue orbs wide and alert followed the beautiful animal's every move, every twitch of its soft nose and scrape of a small hoof. He inched even closer. He could almost touch it now. Ever so slowly, he reached out a tentative hand, pale fingers wiggling slightly.

He wanted so desperately to touch it. To see if…maybe, just maybe…

He stopped breathing entirely when the doe went rigid, lean muscles visibly tensing beneath the chocolate colored pelt. Deciding on taking a huge risk, he leaned closer, fingers strained and hovering inches from the deer's nose. Cream-colored ears swirled in his direction a second before its whole head turned to face him. Deep brown soulful eyes stared straight at… _him_.

For a second time that day, he caught himself before he could stagger back in surprise. Head spinning, he slowly and cautiously crouched down so that he was nearly kneeling, bony knees brushing the snow. With a brief look at his staff, he reluctantly decided on putting it down and out of sight, the less threatening he came across the better. He quietly deposited the shepherd's crook on the forest floor beside him.

Then suddenly a memory of observing a flock of deer from afar flashed before his eyes and before he was completely aware of it, he'd cocked his head slightly to the side, lips puckered and letting out a small snorting sound. The deer's ears once more went erect, nostrils flaring, and once again, its deep brown eyes looked right at him. He froze, hand still outstretched and nearly grazing the doe's muzzle.

Hesitantly, he repeated the sound, only a little louder this time. The doe's ears twitched before she bobbed her head towards him, eyes still watching him warily.

A small, lopsided smile lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other in his trademark grin. Arctic blue eyes sparkled joyfully. He did it again and slowly, hesitatingly took a tentative step closer, silently reveling that the doe let him.

He inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed against a soft muzzle. A small breathless giggle left blue-tinted lips. This was really happening. It was _real_. He was actually touching another living being. His hand was actually pressed against something tangible, something solid and _living_. It didn't phase straight through. He wasn't _intangible_. No empty, heart-wrenching feeling blossomed inside him. He couldn't control the incredibly wide grin spreading across his face, nor the laughter that bubbled out, leaving his throat in silent, hysterical gasps, nor could he prevent the tears from running down his pale cheeks, making frozen trails down to his chin.

Throwing caution to the wind, he took a risk and gently flattened his palm against the damp pad of the doe's nose. She sniffed at it, causing him to chuckle, her breath tickling and warming his perpetually cold skin.

And for the first time in decades, his palm felt _warm_.

A shiver of delight shot up his spine as pleasure and utter happiness slowly spread throughout his spindly body, making his heart beat rapidly and sparkling cerulean eyes clouding with unshed tears. For the first time since rising from the lake, he felt _hope_ take root. For the first time ever, he felt… _alive_.

He gazed at his hand, still cupping the doe's soft nose albeit paler than usual and shaking slightly. Suddenly he felt the need to confirm that this was real. He needed a reassurance that it wasn't just another dream, another phantom of his mind, another wistful fantasy of his own creation.

"Can—Can you see me?" He asked softly, knowing the doe wouldn't answer but feeling the need to ask anyway. The words slipped so easily, so familiarly from his tongue it reminded him of all the times he'd spoken them, muttered them, whispered them, even cried them.

The doe flickered her ears and softly pressed her velvety muzzle a little harder against his palm. He sucked in another breath, dim blue eyes wide and vulnerable.

Was she trying to respond?

Then the damp nose left his hand, it suddenly felt empty and cold. The wintery breeze chilled the moisture on his skin. He'd never felt cold before. He didn't like it.

Transfixed, he watched the doe dip her thick neck downwards to snuffle his frozen cheek and pale neck, tickling his sensitive skin and making a small sound somewhere between a hum and a chuckle sprout from his lips.

Daringly, he let his pale fingers reach up to gently stroke the fur on her forehead, thin digits slightly trembling. When the doe leaned into his touch, he halted mid-stroke, fine hair sticking up between his long fingers. One ear flickered as if annoyed he'd stopped. With a bemused smile, he resumed petting her.

He wasn't sure how long they stood like that, he didn't count the minutes but he reveled in every passing second. His fingers tenderly carding the doe's soft fur were slowly being warmed by the animal's emitted body heat. With a broad smile, he enjoyed the gradual transition of his usual icy skin from cold to something akin to temperate and warm. The small tingling sensation of his awakening blood had his lips moving in silent merriment. He relished the unfamiliar feeling.

The doe suddenly grew restless underneath his gentle touch. Serene, sky blue eyes blinked open as the doe slowly withdrew from his hand. It instantly cooled. He watched wistfully as she sniffed around before turning to the underbrush of which she'd popped out of.

It was slowly, but steadily getting darkener, the sun dipping below the horizon was a telltale sign of the approaching night. He knew she had to leave to find somewhere to doze and hide from nocturnal predators.

But before the doe trotted off, she turned back to him to rub his cheeks affectionately with a damp nose. Her breath ruffled his snow-white hair and he chuckled, eyes crinkling fondly and cheeks dimpled by a wide, cheery grin.

"Thank you." His voice was barely a whisper, tender and brimming with poorly concealed emotions.

All too soon, the moment ended and the doe was retreating to the bare undergrowth. He flicked his staff over his shoulder, watching the doe slowly melting with the shadows of the night.

He wasn't alone anymore, and would probably never have been had he not been so obsessed and transfixed with the human world. Humans may not see him and other spirits may not care enough to even look at him, but somehow just knowing that _someone_ could perceive his existence, be that humans, spirits, mammals or other animals, made his heart sore with elation.

So, with a small but genuine smile at pale, blue-tinted lips, he let the wind lift him from the forest floor, and affectionately brush against him as it whisked him away. There was a snowstorm in Poughkeepsie with his name on it.

* * *

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	13. Believe in the Guardians Pt 1

**Hiya people! Here's another little chappy for you. Please R &R!**

 **This little ficlet was requested by MillyOnFanfics. Hope you enjoy! And I really hope it was just as you imagined it would be. Can't wait to hear from you!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Believe in the Guardians Pt. 1**

Jamie Bennett rushed down the stairs as a blur of brown and blue.

"Mom," He called excitement ringing unmasked in his voice, face an open book of pure elation. "I'm going out for a while."

"Meeting up with some friends?"

"Jack Frost." The name flowed from his lips automatically, unwaveringly. He struggled with his boots, not bothering to untie the laces.

He could hear his mom chuckle softly before replying in that usual humorous tone she used whenever she thought he was being silly, drawing out the syllables. "O-o-okay."

He rolled his eyes, as he grabbed his gloves and scarf; good mood not hampered in the slightest at his mother's disbelief.

He finally managed to get the last boot on after some ungraceful and unbalanced hobbling and wobbling. He didn't even make it to the front door before his mother's voice reached him once more. "Don't forget your hat, Jamie. It's really cold today. There was a slight pause before his mother in a playful and teasing lilt said: "You don't want Jack Frost nipping at your nose."

This only caused the young boy's smile to widen further. Jack could nip at his nose whenever he wished just as long as he kept visiting him regularly.

In one fluid motion, he'd grabbed the door and threw it open, forgetting his hat. He was outside in less than a second, bounding down the stairs two at a time, all the while never losing the grin dimpling his cheeks.

He came to a sudden halt right in front of Jack, almost colliding with the frost teen's legs.

"Easy there, Jamie." Jack laughed, pale hands grabbing his shoulder to steady him.

"You came!" He beamed up at his favorite Guardian, merriment and excitement sparkling in his brown eyes as a grin split his face, showing of his pearly whites, the gap long since gone.

Jack smiled mischievously, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other in a very familiar lopsided smirk. "I promised I would, didn't I?"

Jamie nodded in affirmation, hands itching, restless to do _something_. "You did."

He'd been coped up in his room for a whole week, stuck bedridden with a nasty flu he'd picked up at school. When Jack had come swooping in in a flurry of snow and frost, he'd been fevered and trembling like an aspen leaf. He'd gotten the Guardian of Fun to promise to come back in a week and had counted the days, the hours and even minutes ever since. And now, he was finally fit as a fiddle and high strung with pent up energy and the urge to play and do mischief with the Winter Spirit.

"So, what do you want to do today, kid?" Jack asked, blue eyes shining with amusement and happiness at seeing his first believer so excited to see _him_. No one had ever wanted to _see_ him before.

An impish smirk tugged at the brown haired youth's lips as he bent down, scooped up a fine ball of slush and hurled it at the unsuspecting teen.

Jack spluttered, his expression a mix between blatant surprise and humiliated at having been caught off guard. He'd done it too, hadn't he? He'd actually managed to catch the _Jack Frost_ of guard. _The_ Guardian of Fun, _the_ Winter Spirit and bringer of snow-days and fun-times. He whooped in glee, jumping up and down with excitement and a proud grin adorning his young features. He was so caught up in his moment of triumph that he didn't catch the wicked smile grazing the Winter Spirit's blue-shaded lips or the puckish expression settling on his pale features as the older boy lazily swung his staff and sent a burst of Winter Magic straight at him. He stumbled backwards, lost his balanced and hit the ground with a loud exclamation.

He glared playfully up at the Guardian peering down at him with an amused, victorious expression, while rubbing his sore behind. "You're so dead!"

He sprung from the ground and flung himself at the older boy, letting out a battle cry. His arms wound around the slight chest of his favorite Guardian as his legs curled around the teen's narrow hips, the momentum forcing Jack to stagger backwards only to stumble over his own legs and falling rather ungracefully to the frost bitten ground where they remained lying and laughing until they were both out of breath.

"I have an idea." Jack wheezed breathlessly, standing up and brushing away the snow now clinging to his doeskin pants and oversized sweatshirt, staff held lightly in one hand. A mischievous grin brightened his pale features, frosty eyes sparkling, his snowy hair catching the sunlight, making it glimmer like his namesake. Standing there in full sunlight, slight and sprite-like, almost ethereal, Jack appeared every inch the Winter Spirit that he was. And Jamie could do nothing but stare adoringly up at his idol.

No one could build a snow fort like Jack Frost. Jamie stood gaping at the sight of their creation, uttering, "wow", in astonishment and wonder.

It was simply perfect, grandiose and befitting a general of an army ready to do battle of grand proportions. It consisted of walls of piled and compacted snow. It was closed off so that the person inside the fort would be completely surrounded by walls on all sides. There was a "door" on one side, leading to a completely different section of the fort. It was huge, going all the way from the middle of the garden to the concave corners of the house, using them as part of the fort. Another part was a tunneled-out burrow built in a large snowdrift that Jack had called forth for that very purpose. The snow fort was made of numerous cylindrical compacted snow blocks the frost teen had created with his staff. They were neatly stacked into a stable, defensive structure and looked like they could double as both unyielding, impenetrable walls and powerful ammunition to be used to punch holes in enemy snow forts. The whole structure was a foot higher than Jamie, but the fort had sections where the wall was knee-high, making it a perfect place for the occupant to easily throw snowballs at the enemy.

"Pretty neat, isn't it?"

A voice from behind him asked. He turned to face the creator, flabbergasted. "I knew you were good but this…"

"I'm pretty amazing, I know."

Jamie rolled his eyes and shoved the older boy playfully. He slowly inched forward, brown eyes wide and awestruck. "It's incredible Jack!" He exclaimed, gaze never leaving the snow fort.

Jack chuckled softly, sheepishly rubbing his neck. "I may have gone a little overboard…" The motion was lost on Jamie as he was still staring in awe at the structure carefully crafted of snow and ice, intricate details was carved in the blocks of ice, frost ferns running along the walls in beautiful swirling patterns.

"Naw, I think it's perfect!"

"Well then, go on." Jack nudged him, gesturing to the fort. "Explore it."

He didn't need to be told twice. He was inside the fort almost before Jack had finished his sentence, mouth agape and eyes sparkling in amazement. He let his gloved hand trail along the wall as he explored each and every nook and cranny, room and corridor, all the while muttering words of admiration and wonder.

Gazing around the room he'd just entered and spotting a pile of snow in one of the four corners, an idea formed in his mind and he couldn't prevent the mischievous grin from splitting his face. The room was ceiled with an ice roof. The perfect place to battle a Winter Spirit apt at using the wind to his advantage. There was no breeze here for the older boy to use. He finally had a chance to win against the agile teen.

He quickly made some uneven but still very functional snowballs and stacked them behind a protruding wall that made up part of a tunnel leading to another part of the fort. It was the perfect hiding spot as well as the ultimate advantage point. He could easily pelt Jack with snowballs the moment the older boy stepped foot in the room.

True to his boyish nature, it didn't take long before Jack found him. And Jamie was ready. The moment the teen's white head appeared in the doorway, Jamie began bombarding him with snowballs. The pale boy _squealed_ and sought cover from the unrelenting attack. Jamie faltered slightly at the sound, the snowball in his gloved hand falling unceremoniously to the frosted ground as his slight frame was raked with laughter. He clutched his stomach, trying in vain to stifles the peals of genuine giggles. That was a sound he'd never thought Jack capable of making. Not cool, usually collected and mischievous, always at the end of a prank and never the victim, Jack. Today, he was proven wrong. He doubled over, howling while tears ran unbidden down his rosy cheeks even though he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Jack," he gasped, trying to talk through the unrelenting guffaws. "That was—" he was cut off by a new round of unadulterated laughter as the shocked, surprised face of Jack's flashed anew before his eyes. "That was hilarious."

A snowball to the face shut him right up and he became more engrossed in spluttering and removing the slush from his face.

"I do try." Came the cheeky response.

Once his vision was clear of obscuring tears, he found Jack standing idly not too far away, playing with a perfectly round snowball.

"That was pretty sneaky." Jack chortled, blue eyes crinkling playfully at the corners. "I'll make a snowball fight champion out of you yet, my young grasshopper."

"There's this Guardian I know who's just amazing at the whole winter thing…I learned it all from him."

Jack was about to say something, Jamie could see the older boy's mouth open slightly before slamming shut, blue eyes narrowing minutely.

"We should step outside, you're freezing your butt of in here." Jack suddenly said, voice tense and void of the previous humor and playfulness, gesturing to Jamie's shaking frame and clattering teeth. "I don't want to be the cause of you catching pneumonia or something…" The last part was muttered so low Jamie wasn't sure he actually heard it. Shadows swirled in Jack's suddenly age-old eyes, the icy blue orbs dimming slightly before bouncing back to their usual bright, azure glow. Had he not been watching the older boy, he would have been convinced it was a trick of the limited light seeping in through the small cracks between the ice blocks.

"Ok—Okay." He stuttered, only now becoming aware of how cold he actually was. The air inside the fort was still and frigid, the frozen snow blocks only sharpened the biting cold. He refrained from hugging himself to preserve some of the little body heat he had left, not wanting fuel Jack's already guilty conscience. He opted to rub his hands together instead.

When they exited the snow forth, the sun was slowly making progress across the sky, now much closer to the horizon than before they entered the structure, a clear testament to the time spent inside the fort, having the time of his life.

He could see Jack ushering the arctic wind away, trying fruitlessly to hide the effort from him.

Wanting to distract the worried spirit, he decided to ask the question that had been gnawing inside him for weeks.

"Emm, Jack?" He hesitated slightly, eyes suddenly finding the snow beneath his feet very fascinating, hands fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of his jacket. "Do you think…if I could get my mom to believe…" He stuttered incoherently, stopping only to inhale deeply, still not looking at the immortal teenager standing in front of him. "Do you think she would be able to…you know…see you as well?"

Jack abruptly stopped trying to coach the northern wind away. He fully turned to him, blue eyes betraying his confusion and surprise at the sudden, innocent question. He clearly hadn't seen that one coming.

"What do you—I don't know—Huh?" The frost teen spluttered uncomprehendingly, his pale face wearing a look of complete incomprehension.

Jamie chuckled, amused by the immortalized youth's blubbering.

"Well?" He looked expectantly at the Winter Spirit, brown eyes warming at the pensive look slowly replacing the confusion on the other's features.

"Honestly, I don't know, Jamie." Had he not been watching the spirit so closely, he would have missed the brief, wistful smile grazing the teen's blue-tinted lips for a spilt second before his mask of causal easy-goingness slid into place. "I've never heard of an adult believing in the Guardians before."

"Oh." Jamie sighed, dejectedly, averting his eyes from Jack as not to show his disappointment.

He wasn't fast enough.

"That doesn't mean it's not possible." Jack quickly backpedaled. "I've only been a Guardian for a few years you know, and before that I was sorta…out of the loop of the going ons and whatnots of the spirit word." Hurt and indignation flashed in those incredibly expressive blue eyes before simmering down to melancholy before being replaced completely by his usual flippant look.

Pale hands suddenly clasped his slight shoulders, the coldness of Jack's skin seeping through the fabric of his clothes. He suppressed a shiver as he looked up at the Guardian of Fun's reassuring face. "We could ask the other Guardians if you want to."

Jamie bit his lower lip uncertainly. Should he involve the other Guardians? Would they not think him nothing but a bothersome child meddling in others affairs?

Jack gently gave his shoulders a light shake, bringing him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"It's no skin of my back." Jack told him encouragingly, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before releasing him. "Really."

Jamie smiled up at him, shaking his head. "We can ask them later."

"Whatever you want, kiddo." The eternal teen ruffled his hair fondly.

"What brought this on, anyway?" He asked after a short lull, curiosity written plainly on his expressive face.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders nonchalantly as if the matter was unimportant. "Just a fleeting thought. I was curious."

Jack looked at him, disbelief coloring his pale features, clearly not buying a word. But he let it go, which Jamie appreciated.

Then the brief silence was broken by his mom calling his name.

"Jamie?"

"I'm here." He hollered back, slightly annoyed.

"I think it's time to come inside. You've been out here for hours." Her voice was filled with motherly concern and he rolled his eyes, not catching the wistful look entering Jack's sky blue orbs. "Remember, you're still recovering."

"Yes, mom." He drawled, disappointment thickening his words.

Jack ruffled his hair comfortingly. "I'll come back tomorrow. We'll play more then."

"Promise?" He asked, brown eyes boring into blue, hope radiating from his suddenly beaming face.

The Winter Spirit chuckled, giving his hair one last ruffle, tousling the brown locks. "Promise."

When he turned back to give the snow fort one last, longing look, it was all gone, the garden just as barren and empty as when he first stepped outside. Other than a thick layer of snow covering the ground, there was no sign of there ever being a snow forth there to begin with. Had he not been in there hurtling snowballs at Jack only moments ago, he would have thought he'd dreamt it all.

A sudden pang of sadness surged through him at the thought of Jack destroying his own wonderful creation, not letting anyone else see its beauty. Not letting anyone learn about the lonely Winter Spirit that was Jack Frost.

Jamie may be young and inexperienced but he knew that Jack was lonely. He could see it in the frost spirit's expressive eyes when the pale boy thought he wasn't looking. There was an ancient sadness in those blue orbs that spoke of centuries of pain and loneliness, and Jamie didn't like it. He'd never gotten the older boy to talk about his past, but he'd been attentive and caught snippets of conversations between the other Guardians whenever they visited. Jack had been on his own, alone and abandoned, neglected by his own kind for a very, very long time.

Even after four years, Jack still only had a handful of believers and though it didn't seem to bother the Guardian of Fun, Jamie could tell that the older boy was silently disheartened and despondent at the small number. Jack was an expert at hiding behind masks of indifferent, carefreeness and casualness, but Jamie had through the years, learned to see the signs underneath the cracks in the Winter Spirit's carefully crafted masks. The brief flickering of blue eyes when asked about his lack of believers, a slight quirk of pale lips in a wistful smile when he should be laughing, narrow shoulders slightly hunched when they should be relaxed. They all were testaments to the youngest Guardian's true feelings and emotions.

Jamie would change that. Jack would never be alone again. And if he could help it, the older boy would never again need to hide his gifts from anyone, be that other kids or ignorant adults, least of all his mom. He shouldn't have to protect Jamie from difficult questions he couldn't answer truthfully. Jamie would get Jack more believers.

He would get his mother to believe, and all the kids in the neighborhood, no, he would get all the kids at school to believe in the mischievous Guardian of Fun, just as they did in the Big Four. Even if it would take his whole life. If his mother could see Jack, he would be able to visit whenever he wished, and they could spend so much more time together, when the older boy wasn't so busy of course. He knew Jack had a tight schedule. He was both a Guardian and _the_ Winter Spirit after all, and Jamie couldn't be too selfish.

When he turned back to the youngest Guardian, Jack was watching him with an unreadable expression, idly twiddling with his staff, twirling it around in his hands. When he caught Jamie looking at him, he blithely flicked the shepherd's crook over his shoulder and gave him a light shove in the direction of the house.

"Of you go, kiddo." He said cheerily, his smirk playful though Jamie could just barely discern a slight ruefulness in his tone. "Can't let your mom wait all day."

"Jack—"

"It's okay, Jamie, I'll pop in tomorrow." He gave a brief, mock salute before zipping of in a flurry of wind and snowflakes.

Jamie could only shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips before he made his way to the front door, sprinting up the stairs in two leaps, but before stepping inside, he turned back to the direction Jack had flown of in, a confident look on his youthful face, brown eyes sparkling with conviction.

"I'll get her to believe, you'll see." He whispered, watching his favorite Guardian disappear beyond the blazing horizon, blending with the shadows of the approaching night.

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	14. Believe in the Guardians Pt 2

**What's this? Another update? I'm on a updating roll this week all right. I'm not too happy with how this one turned out, but can't love 'em all, right? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the second and last part of the 'Believe in the Guardians arc'. Please R &R!**

 **MillyOnFanfics, I hope I continue to exceed your expectations with this one as well. Really hope you like it, Milly! *Double crosses fingers and toes* I'm looking forward to hear your opinion on the result.**

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 **Chapter Fourteen: Believe in the Guardians Pt. 2**

He had one day. One day to persuade his mom that the Guardians were real. One day to make her _believe_ in Jack Frost, the very _expression_ she so often used to coerce him into using his hat during winter.

It was almost midday and still his mom was none the wiser.

And he'd tried everything. From painting windowpanes with frost, though that wasn't very successful with his lack of ability to make the aforementioned coating of ice. He'd given up on that one pretty quickly. Then he'd decided to draw sketches in the frost already coating the windowpanes of his room, Jack must have returned during the night. The thought made him smile, bringing with it a warmth that bloomed in his chest. His mom didn't believe him and simply told him to stop fooling around and do his homework before leaving with his dirty laundry. Then he'd tried to give her sudden, unexplainable chills by creating frigid drafts inside the house by systematically opening doors and windows to let the wintry breeze inside. When that didn't work he'd taken to follow his mother around while she was outside, mentioning Jack Frost whenever she slipped on ice or commented on the cold and the unusual amount of snow in their garden compared to their neighbors'.

Nevertheless, despite all his attempts his mother remained a firm unbeliever. She didn't even seem the least bit inclined to believe him or hear him out for that matter, just brushed him off with a soft chuckle while ruffling his hair fondly.

With a loud exclamation of frustration, he gracelessly plopped down on his bed.

Why did it have to be so infuriatingly difficult? Why did adults have to be so stupid and nescient and so utterly incapable at believing in things not visible to them without clinging to some scientific mumbo jumbo to explain the supernatural and inexplicable. Like when quarters appeared from somewhere other than parents wallets, replacing lost teeth, or when presents suddenly popped up during the night leading to Christmas Eve, or when intricate detailed eggs were suddenly and gratuitously spread across the globe on Easter Sunday, or when beautiful, swirling fern frost without explanation coated windowpanes of children's bedrooms during the winter season. And the grown-ups called _them_ naïve.

He had to figure something out. Jack was bound to show up any minute now and he so desperately wanted his mother to see him, to show him that he wasn't as alone as he may think. That he could have a mom too. After all the Winter Spirit had done for him, this was the least he could do. He wanted to return the favor. Jack deserved at least that.

He couldn't give up now. Jamie Bennett was no quitter. If it was something his useless father had taught him before jumping ship, it was to never give up.

Perhaps it was time to enlist his sister's help. No one had the power of persuasion like Sophie. Just look at the way the little girl had the Easter Bunny tightly wrapped around her little finger. All it had taken was one small look at the largest, wettest doe-eyes in existence and the Guardian of Hope was doomed. The Pooka hadn't even known what hit him the day he laid eyes on his fearsome, sly and cunning little sister.

He sprung out of bed and was out of the room and across the hall in less than a second. He rapped his knuckles on her door in quick succession. "Sophie?"

The blasting pop music muffled by the door to unintelligible noises abruptly stopped and he could hear rapid, clumsy footsteps approaching the door. It swung open to reveal a messy blond head and piercing green eyes.

"I need your help." He confessed, watching with slight amusement as curiosity flittered over his sister's petite, lightly freckled face.

"I want to convince mom that the Guardians are real." He said unprompted, voice ringing with conviction and gusto. "I owe it to Jack."

"Count me in." There was no hesitation in her voice.

"Thanks Soph."

They went back to his room to plot. And approximately half an hour later they had a plan.

"You think it will work?" Jamie asked skeptically, suddenly having doubts. His eyes skimmed the sketched plan before him, poorly drawn stick figures and squiggly speech bubbles peered up at him.

"Of course it will." Sophie said confidently, then smiled smugly, snatching the paper and folding it neatly. "Just leave everything to me."

He chuckled softly and leaned over to fondly ruffle the messy tresses she so adamantly refused to cut. "The first part's all yours then, Soph."

She gave him a quick thumps up before jumping to her feet, stuffing the sheet in her back pocket. "Let operation: Believe in the Guardians, begin." She whispered as she opened the door, followed closely by her brother.

They both giggled as they left the room, the excitement almost palpable. Jamie let his sister descend the stairs first, lingering behind for a moment and letting the scene before him play out uninterrupted.

"Mom," He could hear Sophie call from the kitchen with that musical lilt she used whenever she wanted something.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Is it okay if Jack comes over to play later today?" She asked innocently, and he could just picture her green eyes, wide and begging.

"Jack?"

"Yes."

"Jack who? I wasn't aware you knew a Jack, Soph." Their mother stated surprised, taken off guard.

"Of course I do." Sophie sounded miffed, almost affronted that her mother didn't even remember one of her friends. "And Jamie does too."

It took a moment before the reply came, his mom seemingly having to ponder Sophie's suddenness. "Well, who is Jack exactly?"

"Jack Frost."

Jamie could only smile from his place perched on top of the stairs. _That Sophie_ , he thought, shaking his head in disbelief at his sister's ingeniousness. He forgot sometimes that Sophie was just six; she had the mind of a girl much older. But his mom used to say that girls matured much faster than boys, so it may only be due to evolution and not cleverness and adaptability that his sister so proudly and smugly claimed it to be.

"Not you too Soph." He could hear their mother sigh, exasperated. "What is it with you two and that Jack Frost?"

Uh-oh. A slightly annoyed mom was never a good sign. He got up to interrupt but stopped at Sophie's next words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it halted his step.

"He's real mom."

"Sophie—"

"I'm not making it up. I know he's real. Jamie knows he's real. Cupcake too. And Pippa. And Monty. And Claude and Caleb too. We can all see him."

"Who do you think coats the windows in frost mom?" Jamie asked, stepping into the kitchen. "The panes have new insulators. We got them months ago, yet the frost still appears out of thin air. It's Jack Frost, mom. He's real and he's really lonely."

"It's just an expression, honey, you know that. He's not—"

"He's our _friend_."

"Jamie, do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?" Her tone was hard and unwavering. "This Jack Frost is nothing but a figment of your imagination, a childhood fantasy and an expression for the biting cold of winter. Frankly, I thought you were too old for these childish beliefs."

"Why won't you believe us?" He was getting frustrated, angry tears coming unbidden to his eyes but he stubbornly blinked them away. He felt like stomping his foot, but knowing that it would do more harm than good, he bit down on his lip hard instead. His mom already thought him a child. No need to add fuel to the fire. "We're not lying, mom."

The woman faltered, hesitated slightly, green eyes suddenly conflicted.

"Jack _is_ real." He ploughed on voice full of conviction and eyes flashing with clear belief, not giving his mom room to recover. "And so are the other Guardians of childhood."

Something unreadable flickered in her jade green eyes, softening her expression. Then a wistful smile quirked her lips. "I haven't heard that name in many years."

"You believed in them once too, right?" He almost whispered. "Why can't you do it again?" He took a step forward, closing the distance between them and looked up at her with wide, misty eyes.

"Please, mom." He pleaded, voice unbearably soft and vulnerable, trembled slightly, wide eyes blurred by a thin sheen of tears. "Give us the benefit of the doubt just this once."

Jamie, I—"

Something tapped the window, drawing their attention, and all _three_ heads swirled in that direction.

A pale, young face stared back at them, icy blue eyes beaming and sparkling with mischief, one hand waving, the other gripping a shepherd's crook that he'd obviously used to rap on the windowpane. Delicate fern frost spread from the point where the staff had touched the glass, webbing outwards to cover the whole pane. A huge grin lit up his impish face, snowy hair wild and wind-tousled.

"Jack!" Jamie exclaimed cheerily, his sadness and frustration all but vanished.

He'd almost forgotten about his sister. She'd been unnaturally still and silent during their dispute. Now she squealed gleefully, bounding towards the window, blond, uneven locks bobbing up and down.

Behind them, their mother gasped. Surprised, he turned back to her only to see her gaze fixed on the frost slowly creeping across the pane.

Suddenly he got an idea and without thinking it through, he decided to run with it. It was now or never.

"See," He pointed to the window, it really wasn't necessary with his mom already staring at it, but he wanted to make a statement so he did it anyway. "We told you Jack Frost is real."

She took a step back, hands flying to her open mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates. "It can't be…"

"Do you see him?"

"I don't know." She muttered, emerald green eyes narrowing and focusing. "I can see a silhouette of someone, the form of a young boy…"

"That's him!" He exclaimed loudly, beaming. "That's Jack!"

He then abruptly turned to his sister. "Sophie! Open the window!"

She did as he commanded and his eyes immediately found the peppy Winter Spirit. "Jack, can you do the rabbit thing you did for me way back?" He grimaced at his lack of eloquence, his vocabulary seemingly having left him in his eagerness.

Jack nodded, chuckling slightly and floated through the open window, landing soundlessly on the floor before gently placing a thin finger on the windowpane. The outline of a Bunny soon appeared in the frost, and it didn't take long before the little creature was hopping around the small kitchen, spreading feather light snowflakes with each bound.

"Do you see that mom?" Sophie asked softly and tentatively, clearly not wanting to break the spell Jack's creation was casting.

Their mom only nodded, mouth agape and eyes wide with wonder and astonishment.

Jamie shared a bright smile with his sister, doing a silent high-five. Then he turned to Jack and had to struggle to contain the snickers trying to escape his throat as hearty, full-blown laughter. He'd never seen the frost teen more perplexed than he was right now.

The Winter Spirit was, a mirror image of his mom, standing straight, mouth agape and cerulean eyes so wide he was almost worried they would pop out their sockets. He was staring at their mother, his expression that of utter bewilderment. His staff was clutched to his chest tightly with both hands, almost like a lifeline.

"Can—Can she…" He stuttered, his pale complexion growing even paler. "Can she… _see_ me?" His voice broke and he blinked repeatedly, shocked blue eyes still staring at his mom, transfixed, who in turn was gawking right back at him, green eyes just as wide and unbelievable. It would have been simply hilarious if not for the raw, emotional, volatile and almost palpable ambience.

"Just barely."

All eyes snapped to his mom. The words was uttered breathlessly.

Jack seemed to snap out of it then, whatever daze he'd been in vanishing in an instant. He whooped in exhilaration, almost levitating despite the room's lack of wind. The boy's pale face was an open book of raw emotions flittering from incredulousness, diffidence, incomprehension and disbelief to wonder, bliss, elation and utter euphoria. He'd never so many emotions dance across Jack's face before. Then a smile so vulnerable and tender Jamie's heart clenched painfully spread across the frost teen's young face, tugging at the corners of blue-tinted lips and lifting them into the Jack-like crooked grin he was so very fond of and familiar with.

Jack flicked his wrist, fingers wiggling slowly and forming a small, beautiful and intricate snowflake. He then gently blew the flimsy flake in his mom's direction.

It didn't take much, the small prompting from Jack's dubbed 'fun-flake' was enough to convince his mom that Jack Frost was indeed standing right in front of her. It was so plain to see when she finally let the guard down completely and accepted their words as truths and not children's balderdash. It was as if a film lifted form her eyes. He'd never knew his mom had such striking, vivid green eyes. They shone brightly with love and merriment, no longer dulled and dimmed by the veil of ignorance and disbelief.

"You are actually here, corporeal and tangible, alive."

Jack nodded, a small unreadable smile grazing his lightly blue shaded lips.

"Have you been watching over my children all this time?

Jack nodded again, shyly duking his head.

"Thank you."

The white haired teen's head snapped back up as if surprised someone was thanking _him_.

Then his mother's face scrunched in thought.

"Since…Then…Does that mean…"

Knowing where his mom's thoughts had wandered, Jamie piped up.

"They're real. Every one of them is real." He repeated the words spoken to him by the very Winter Spirit standing beside him so long ago. He glanced up at Jack and smiled at the older teen's slightly surprised, wide-eyed expression. Jack's gaze shifted downwards to Jamie and their eyes met, kind brown and affectionate blue, then Jack was smiling warmly, blinking away unshed tears and ruffling his hair fondly.

"Thank you." He barely caught the whisper, Jack's voice unusually tender and unguarded. Reflexively, he reached up, grasped the young Guardian's hand, and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze.

He'd actually done it. He'd gotten his mom to believe.

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 **Thanks to all who've read, faved, followed, favorited, PMed and reviewed! You're all amazing! I really appreciate each and every one.**

 **Shout-out to MillyOnFanfics, AyameKitsune and a certain guest reviewer!**


	15. A Safe Heaven

**I think it's time for another Bunny/Jack brotherly fluff story, don't you? It's just a short, silly little thing, but I hope you like it nonetheless.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **Chapter Fifteen: A Safe Heaven**

Aster exited the tunnel with a content smile, head swirling with new ideas, designs, motifs and patterns. He drew in a lungful of the fresh, clean air of his Warren as his hind legs touched soft, green grass.

The Guardian of Hope made his way over to his burrow to discard the leather pouch slung across his shoulder, filled to the brim with all the equipment needed for the Easter Bunny to do his job. The next year's Easter would be his best yet. It had to be nothing short of perfect to make up for the failure of last year's holiday as well as to give the little Snowcone an Easter worth three hundred years of neglect and shunning.

When the Jack had let it slip that he'd never celebrated Easter, a wave of shame, guilt, pain and pity overwhelmed him and he'd struggled to keep his expression neutral and not flinch. Then the kid had just shrugged it off like all those rejections and shouting matches hadn't hurt. Aster felt ten shades of awful and remorseful. He had to make it up to the boy. He couldn't wipe away all those empty Easters spent all alone, but he would be damned if he didn't make this one count. Jack deserved nothing less than amazing.

After carefully stashing the pouch away and organizing his tools and sketchbooks, he picked up a two clean paintbrushes and a couple of different colored paint-tubs before venturing back outside. In accordance with the world above, the sun was slowly setting in the western part of his Warren, its last rays painting the sky in brilliant shades of fiery reds and oranges, which reflected of the surface of the rainbow-rivers, casting Hope's domain in a breathtaking color-show.

The brief shift in temperature alerted him that something was amiss, and he sniffed and glanced about, green eyes darting from the sunset to the hillside, waiting for the intruder to bound over it any second.

A gentle, but sharp breeze not native to his domain brushed against him, making him shiver. With ears rigid and alert, and twitching in different direction, he expertly sniffed the air again. He knew that wind and was way too used to that unpredictably shift in temperature. It was as familiar and pleasant as it was a forewarning of trouble and headaches to come.

The wind skimmed his fur, gently ruffling the downy hairs. It tugged at his arms and legs as if to urge him forward, to guide him towards something, and he knew before taking the first step what he would find if he were to follow the too insisting, insubstantial wind spirit.

The kid's mop of snowy white hair was the first thing that caught Aster's keen eyes as he reached the top of a poppy-covered hill. It stood out like a sore thumb among the greenery and rainbow-rivers.

Jack sat curled up against a lush tree, fast asleep a little ways away from a trickling purple paint-river at the base of the hill. Bunny silently hopped closer, taking in the sight, and promptly shook his head, slightly annoyed. The kid made everything cold. There was a fine layer of hoar frost on the grass surrounding him and elegant, swirling frost ferns coated the bark of the sapling he leaned against.

Seeing the boy up close and for once still, he looked so small and childlike it tugged on Aster's deeply buried protective instincts. The kid was hella' tiny. No wonder the wind could so easily snatch him from the ground and toss him around without difficulty.

He had never seen the hyperactive Winter Spirit rest before. He was always moving around, always grinning and playing and making a nuisance of himself. Despite his exasperation, Aster smiled fondly as he gazed down at the slumbering youth. He really was just a little kit.

The boy's expression was peaceful and serene, and his usually restless limbs were relaxed and unmoving. One hand held the frosted shepherd's crook in a loose grasp. The flimsy age-old wooden staff rested across the youth's thin legs. He had never seen the boy without his conduit. It never even left the kid's fingers.

He sighed quietly, one paw brushing over his head, briefly bending his large ears backward. He wasn't quite sure what emotion he was feeling. Compassion, concern, remorse, relief. Maybe gratification for that out of all the places Jack could chose to rest, it was here, in his Warren.

The wary winter's shepherd didn't trust anyone, not completely anyway. They couldn't blame the boy for it though. If someone were to be blamed, it would be them, the original Guardians, and all of the spirit world combined for only giving the kid a reason not to trust anyone but himself. That Jack, suspicious, chary, mistrustful Jack, felt safe enough to let his guard down and nap within his domain made him want to cradle the boy in his arms and hug him tightly.

He silently creeped a bit closer, heedful of the dozing frost child.

It was a little disconcerting to see the boy so still. He soon found that he did not like sleeping Jack very much. He was too still, too cold and so impossibly pale it was hard to suppress the urge to check the teen's white skin for a pulse. If it wasn't for the steady, barely distinguishable rise and fall of his small chest, the boy looked dead. He shuddered slightly and forced the thought to the very back of his mind.

He sat down on his haunches beside the napping Guardian and waited for the youth to awaken. He pulled a paint tube and a brush from his bandolier and scooped up an egglet that waddled aimlessly by.

True to teen's solitary nature, it did not take long before thick, black lashes begun to flutter restlessly and crystal blue eyes soon opened slowly. The Winter Spirit was unused to having other presences around him after all. When bleary cornflower orbs found Bunny's, Jack sprung up with a jolt, staff clutched tightly in a white-knuckled grip and pointed at the Pooka, eyes wide with surprise and slight panic.

A sheepish look settled on the youth's face when he got his bearings and he lowered the staff instantly, opting to fiddle with it embarrassedly instead.

"Oh, hey Bunny…" He trailed off, eyes looking anywhere but at him. The boy looked so high-strung and uncomfortable where he stood awkwardly shuffling his feet, slender arms jerking and body antsy Aster would've found it hilarious if the teen didn't look two seconds away from bolting.

He patted the space beside him where the kid had been resting only moments ago. "Come'ere, Snowflake."

The gangling teen eyed him warily before plopping down, his back once more leaned against the rough trunk. The beautiful frost ferns had already melted in the temperate climate of the Warren.

"That's creepy you know." The immortal youth gave him a cheeky smile, bright blue eyes awake and mischievous. "Watching unaware people sleep."

The kid bounced between moods in heartbeat and Aster could only shake his head, fondly.

"Shaddap, ya dill."

Jack chuckled softly, resting his white head against the bark.

A comfortable silence settled between them after that. The only sounds being the melodious trickling of the paint-river, the waddling of tiny feet scurrying across the green grass and the mild breeze rustling the leaves above their heads.

After a short lull, Aster reached for his bandolier and rummaged through the worn leather pockets, furry fingers seeking the second paintbrush and the tube of pink paint. He settled back against the tree once he found them and continued painting the waiting egglet.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Jack shift nervously.

"Hey, Bunny?" The teen's voice was low and meek and so unlike Jack he was, for a short moment, taken aback but tried not to show it.

Aster's only response was to look up from the now baby-blue googie. The teen was restlessly flipping his staff in his hands. The boy wet his lips before opening his mouth and promptly closed it again, free hand going up to knead pale fingers against the back of his neck, awkwardly.

"What is it, Frost?" He expertly drew the paintbrush across the light blue surface of the egg, tinting the edges pearl pink. When no answer was forthcoming, his eyes left his work once more and he tilted his head, one eyebrow rising as he shot the struggling boy an impatient look.

If it hadn't been for his dwindling patients, seeing the usually cheeky Winter Spirit so flustered and awkward would have been extremely amusing, but as it was Aster was growing steadily more annoyed and less amused by the second.

Jack bit his lip, fingers now worrying the age-old wood of his conduit and ice blue orbs conflicted.

Aster lowered the paintbrush momentarily. "Seriously kid, spit it out."

"Thank you." The teen stuttered, finding the grass between his toes suddenly very fascinating. "For letting me rest here." He smiled timidly.

Of all the things he though the kid would splutter that wasn't among them.

Jack's artic blue eyes radiated gratitude and surprise, and Aster suddenly understood the reason behind the kid's thanks. For the first time in the Winter Spirit's three hundred and something years someone had offered him a safe place to rest, a place that was not a random tree branch or arbitrary snowdrift, a place where he didn't have to watch his back or be alone. For the first time ever someone had offered the lonely boy a _home_.

He placed the unfished and forgotten egglet on the ground and pushed himself up before taking the two steps acquired to stand before the Winter Spirit. He knelt before him and confidently reached out and placed a heavy paw on the curve of the youth's shoulder to draw the spirit's attention away from the ground and back to him. Wide, vulnerable and for once unguarded blue eyes met his. It didn't go unnoticed that the youth didn't jerk away from his touch.

"There's always a safe place fer ya' here at the Warren, Jack." Azure orbs widened even more at the use of his name and the teen embarrassedly ducked his head, but Aster was having none of it and with a gentle paw, he lifted the boy's chin so that their eyes locked again. He wanted to have Jack's full attention. He had to reassure the kid that it was okay to drop in whenever he so wished. "Ya' can rest here anytime ya' want."

The change in Jack's expression was instant. For a second the teen froze, his cold breath halting in his throat and limbs locked by his side, eyes huge, bewildered and scared as if he thought this was just another dream. He clutched his staff tightly and for a second Aster was afraid the delicate knuckles would break through the tautly stretched, pale skin. His rangy frame tremble slightly. Then his muscles relaxed and his tense shoulders slumped. A small but genuine, grateful and happy smile played at his lips.

"I mean it Snowflake." He assured the teen, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Anytime."

A fully fledge beaming grin almost split the boy's face, and he launched himself at Bunny who suddenly had his arms full of a glowing Winter Spirit.

"Thanks Bunny." Jack murmured into The Guardian of Hope's furry chest, voice too weak to be more than a whisper and his small frame was overwhelmed with emotions and warmth he never thought he would ever feel.

He playfully ruffled the kid's frosted white locks. "Yer're always welcome here, Jackie."

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	16. The Three Seasonal Spirits Pt 1

**Hi and welcome to my new arc. This one was requested by WinterCrystal1009, and it will be a three-parter. I got a little carried away.**

 **I'm terribly sorry for the long wait. I really hope you like it WinterCrystal1009. Can't wait to hear what you think of the first chapter.**

 **NB! Due to the sudden departure of my pc and my lazy behind for not taking copies/backups I've decided to edit and rewrite some parts of this arc. Someone also kindly pointed out to me that it was cosely similar to other oneshots and that was never my intention. Therefore I'm going to revise the chapters. Please bear with me! (07.03.2017)**

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 **Chapter Sixteen: The Three Seasonal Spirits Pt. 1**

It was the middle of November. His first November as a _Guardian_ , and he'd just returned from the southern hemisphere, overjoyed to finally be home. The ground was void of snow and ice, though he would remedy that soon enough. He just needed a little rest. The flight over the continents was always strenuous. Especially the warmer regions sapped him of his strength rather quickly. He sat cross-legged on the newly frozen surface of his lake, ice-blue eyes trained skywards, carefree. He angled his head backwards, letting delicate snowflakes gently hit his face. A content smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he childishly stuck out his tongue, trying to catch the flimsy little flakes, eyes glinting gleefully.

"Hello, Jackie."

He shot up and whirled around, staff raised, rime forming at his fingertips and dancing across the old grooves.

Three spirits stood at the lakebed, venomous, spiteful eyes trained on him and grinning maliciously. "Long time no see."

Jack suppressed a shiver. "Not long enough." He hissed, holding the shepherd's crook just a little tighter.

He really didn't like these spirits. Not. At. All.

The three other Seasonals sneered at him, slowly itching closer, their posture screaming of ill intent, their leering and malignant grins promising nothing but violence and pain, and he knew he would not get out of this without injuries.

"Don't be like that, Jackie." Persephone, the Spring Seasonal said, lyrical voice mocking, taking a step closer and Jack involuntarily drew back. She was a dainty girl with a deceivingly and bubbly personality. However, her small, elfish and ebullient appearance belied her fierce, violent temper, and out of the three Seasons Jack had found early on that she was the one that frightened him the most. Her tiny frame, bright and innocent green eyes, wide smile and happy laugh that rang out loud and clear like bells even when she tore him from the sky and cracked his ribs, did nothing for her malevolent and vicious nature. Something disturbingly sinister always hid behind her bubbly personality and it _always_ made him cringe. "We only want to have a little fun with you." She smiled sweetly and the others cackled sinisterly, following their ringleader. "You see, we're quite bored."

That was the only warning he got before the three Sesonals launched at him. He never wanted to hurt the other spirits and sprites, so he rarely fought back, but it didn't stop him from trying to run away.

The Wind was at his side in an instant, brushing against him in concern and lifting him into its embrace.

That was as far as he got before a hot hand clasped his ankle and yanked, hard. He felt the cold air rush by for a second before he slammed against the frozen lake, the ice groaned dangerously, back rebounding off the ground. Something cracked and his breath hitched violently. He struggled to breath, the impact with the ground having knocked the wind out of him. He gasped and choked, trying to suck in air. His staff remained in his grasp, pale fingers locked around the age-old wood. Years of experience had taught him to retain enough presence of mind to always keep a tight hold on the shepherd's crook.

"Leaving so soon, Jackie?" The mocking tone was back, dripping with ill intent and a promise of pain. "That's not very hospitable." He was kicked in the ribs. "And we came all this way just for you." Another kick sent him curling inwards, clutching his middle. He stifled a scream. That _pleasure_ , he refused to give them.

Despite his secure grip, his staff was abruptly and brutally wrenched from his hands with enough force to nearly tear his arm from its socket, leaving his fingers raw and tender.

"No!"

Gritting his teeth, he tried to push himself up. He staggered, legs shaky and weak. Still, he glared at the offending spirits standing a few feet in front of him, forming an ominous circle around him, all three grinning sinisterly. He tried desperately to call the wind. It was ultimately fruitless and he knew it. Without his conduit, he couldn't fly. The wind rustled restlessly through the bare trees, searching for him.

"What's the matter, Jackie? Nowhere to run?"

The Seasonals enclosed him and he instinctively stumbled backwards. It was already too late when he realized they were herding him back towards the forest and away from the ice. Another step backwards and his back hit rough bark. He turned his head slightly to look at the obstacle blocking his escape.

He realized his mistake a second too late.

He was ruthlessly punched in the face, head snapping violently to the side. Pain erupted from his jaw and white flashed before his closed eyes. Something warm trickled slowly from his nose and he quickly wiped the blood away. It didn't feel like his nose was broken. Luckily.

He turned back to the spirits looming over him. But before he had a chance to react, he found himself pinned to the tree by his throat, Mithras' face only inches from his own. The Summer Seasonal was a belligerent brute of a man, a few good years older than him, and with a temper only rivalled by Persephone in its sheer maliciousness. He particularly enjoyed using his hands to inflict pain, leaving grotesque, searing burns wherever his large hands touched.

Scorching fingers tightened around his neck, constricting his airway and burning his throat. He winced, trembling, white hands trying pry the blistering heat from his neck. He clawed at the fingers but received nothing but more pressure and heat for his efforts. He wanted to scream but was unable to. He felt the hand heating up more, and his skin began to sizzle beneath it, blistering under the searing digits.

Black spots flickered before his eyes and his struggles intensified. His bare foot struck out, trying to hit something. Anything. His first kick missed. So did his second and third. By the fourth, his body was jerking with spasms of pain. His fifth kick was his last. He had no strength left. Somehow, his foot connected with Mithras' stomach, and the Seasonal stumbled back, breathless and seething. Jack immediately dropped to the ground, gasping and wheezing.

He told himself to get up, but his limbs trembled under him, refusing lift him more than an inch off the earthy ground.

Something slammed against his back and the impact forced him to drop to the ground, his fingers digging into the earth as he panted. His throat burned and it **hurt**. Hazy, blue eyes were clenched, fighting back tears. Then something rammed into him again, sending sprawling face first in the dirt and he gasped involuntarily as his head cracked against a stone. He groaned and blinked, the world swimming dizzily around him. He could vaguely feel something warm trickle down his cheek.

"Hold him down."

His heart stuttered, then began to beat rapidly, slamming against his cracked ribs painfully fast. He tried to get up. With shaking arms he pushed off against the ground and staggered to his feet only to have his knees buckle. Without his staff there was nothing to keep him standing and he graceless dropped to the ground. Jack grit his teeth and tried to brace the fall with his arms but it still hurt when his stomach hit the frozen ground, jarring his broken ribs.

He was about to try again when Persephone stepped into his line of sight. He tipped his head upward to look at her smiling face. Her lips were lifted in a cruel smirk, green eyes gleaming with delight. She was relishing in his pain. It made him want to gag. The slight, bubbly girl stepped closer, a bright forbidding grin on her face. Instinctively, he tried to crawl away from her, ignoring the smarting of his ribs. He didn't make it very far before a foot came down on his lower back, sending him sprawling across the snow dusted ground. He could hear a dark chuckle from above. Lehar, the Seasonal of Fall, a vindictive man in his late twenties that took particular joy in breaking his bones and tearing his skin, leaving nasty, bleeding cuts and deep bruising that ached for weeks on end, had decided to join the _fun_ as well. Lucky him. The kick left him gasping for breath. He barely saw the other two Elementals circle him, but he heard their leering and cackling and could easily imagine the malice gleaming in their narrowed, spiteful eyes. Then his arms and legs were harshly grasped and spread painfully wide. They secured his limbs in a vice grip that he was sure would leave ugly bruising. He tried to struggle. He trashed and arched his back and thrashed some more, but it was to no avail.

It wasn't long before he felt his sweatshirt being pushed up his arms and blistering hands raked over the exposed skin, searing trails of cracking, burned skin oozing blood and plasma. The sickening smell of burnt skin permeated the air, and sounds of popping and sizzling flesh mixed with shrill cries that tore out of the his abused throat. Mithras's handiwork. Art he called it. One of his strongest calling cards was the physical vibrancy and cruelty of his work. Jack's back was just another canvas to the sadistic Summer Spirit.

The sky that previously had been partly clear and sunny was now overcast with heavy cumulus clouds, thick, sharp snowflakes swirled around them. Without his conduit, Jack's heightened emotions of pain and distress were affecting the weather uncontrollably. He tried to beg them to stop but the words wouldn't form. The only sounds leaving his chapped lips were whimpers and screams of pain.

Then blazing fingers snatched his hoodie again and pulled it over his head so that the blue fabric obscured his vision and left his back exposed to the frigid air and sinister spirits. Panic flared within him and he lashed out, struggling against the restraining hands, earning himself malevolent yet melodious giggles and a tighter grip that threatened to snap the delicate wrist. He knew what would soon follow and he grit his teeth and clenched his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of pain.

The next second his world was consumed in a red haze of flaming agony.

His back was on **fire** , skin blistering and blackening under searing hands, leaving a plethora of deep burns that would leave permanent scars. It felt like his back was being ripped open over and over and over, and he couldn't _breathe_. He thought he passed out for a second because for a few moments everything was blissful darkness. Then all too soon, agony was all he could feel. All he _knew_. He trashed and writhed under the red-hot hands, ribs grinding painfully against the hard soil with each buckle.

When they released him, they graciously tugged down his sweatshirt, freeing his tousled hair and blurry vision from the confines of the blue material. He was in too much pain to think about moving. All he could manage was a few ragged breaths as he stared at the handprints burned onto his arms, blue ice clouded with pain and blinking sluggishly.

He was suddenly and roughly rolled onto his back, his scorched and blistering skin grinding against the uneven ground through his beloved hoodie. He never thought he would be thankful for something his tormentors did, but right now he found that he was in fact thankful, thankful because they at least had pulled the shirt down to cover his burns before shoving him onto his back. He was dimly aware of an inhuman howling echoing around him, sounding almost primal in its ferocity. It wasn't before he began to gasp for air that he realized the sound had come from him. At one point, a foot came down on his stomach so hard had he been human the stamp would likely have caused permanent damage. He bit his tongue, the building scream lodged in his throat.

Then he was sized again, cruel hands securing his arms and legs and keeping him down.

Mithras knelt beside him, the coarse material of his cloak brushing against his pinned arm. He tilted his head to the side and glared at the offending spirit, hatred shone in blurry eyes. His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of the Summer Spirit's glowing hands. His struggles intensified, but it was no use. The two other Seasonal's cackled menacingly as they tightened their grip on his limbs. And just when he thought the pain couldn't get any worse, searing hot hands cupped his cheeks. He could feel the skin blistering underneath the cruel fingers and he could smell his own skin burning. He wanted to gag, to throw up what was left in his already empty stomach. He struggled against the arms holding him, against the scorching fingers digging into his cheeks, burning away the pale skin and leaving a bleeding, blistered, raw flesh. He screamed and screamed, shrill, animalistic yells tearing out of his parched throat, his thin frame writing in frantic jerks to alleviate some of the mind-numbing pain.

When his cheeks were finally released, he let out a relieved, shaky breath. He didn't realize he was crying before something cool and wet and not smelling like iron and cobber rolled down his cheeks. He relished in the small pleasure of coolness they gave him as they half-froze on his flushed face. The relief was short-lived when the salty tears ran over his blistered cheeks. He howled in pain, desperately trying to free his hands so he could brush them away, but the two Seasonals held them in a painfully tight grasp. He began to rub his face against the ground. It worked. To some extent. It did remove the tears but some dirt got caught in the bleeding and exuding wounds. It stung, but not as bad as before.

He was suddenly released again, blood returning to his extremities, but before he could do anything else, something violently pressed his body against the ground. He barely managed to turn his head, scraping his cheek and chin against roots and pebbles. Lehar towered above him with one of his booted feet firmly placed on his stomach. Persephone and Mithras stood around him, leering down at him with twisted delight and malevolent smiles.

Lehar lifted his foot – and Jack almost sighed in relief – only to kick him with full force, while Persephone simultaneously trampled on his leg. A sickening crack shook the forest. Jack failed to suppress the scream forcing its way out of his lungs, and he howled in sheer agony, body writhing in frantic, and ultimately fruitless, attempts to stop the pain.

He clutched his broken leg to his chest, curling his body around it to protect the pulsating limb form further abuse as the Seasonals above him laughed and jeered. He tried to call out to them, to beg them to just leave him alone, but his words never got through. Pain bloomed everywhere, shooting up his leg and gnawing and burning at his back and along his arms and cheeks. The pain morphed into something that should have been mind-numbing. He wished desperately to black out, to go numb, anything that would take him away from this. He wished, prayed, _hoped_ that something would just _give_. He could hear a dull echo of noise above him, but he couldn't focus on it because _it just hurt so much_ , too much for his fuzzy, clouded mind to even think.

"Did you enjoy that, Jackie?" Persephone mocked, voice light and playful. "Cuz' there's mo—"

" **Oi! Whatc'ya doin'!?"**

"Shit! It's the Guardians." They scrambled away from him in a flurry of limbs and curses.

"It was just getting fun too." Persephone whined with a disgusting childish lilt. "Too bad." Careless, cruel. "We'll have to make it up to you, Jackie."

Then they were gone, the only sound of their departure being Persephone's whispered words of "see you later, Jackie." The sinister, forbidding words echoed in his mind and he instinctively curled up tighter, small frame shaking, and eyes clenched.

The wind stilled slowly, the innumerous snowflakes swirling wildly lessened until halting altogether. The artic wind brushed against him soothingly, trying to coax him to uncurl and face the concerned eyes that he was aware was looking at him.

The snow that now covered the forest floor crunched loudly, footsteps steadily drawing nearer. He flinched harshly and jerked away in a wild scamper of panic and wide, terrified, hazy blue eyes. His heart stuttered then began to hammer against his tender ribs, blood rushing in his ears. He had a hard time separating reality and memories. His eyes closed, trying to suppress the onslaught of images. His head ached and his vision swam underneath clenched eyelids. He was so dizzy and nauseous, but he fought the urge to throw up.

He gradually became aware of the tangible silence, the crunching of snow underfoot having stopped. Though he could still feel their eyes glued to his trembling form, watching as blood seeped through the blue fabric of his hoodie and staining the pristine, white snow.

There was some light shuffling he assumed to be Bunny slowly inching closer, trying not to frighten him like he was some scared, hurt, wild animal. And maybe he was? He was _scared_. Scared of the other Seasonals. Scared that the Guardians would think him weak and pathetic and not fit to be one of them anymore. He was _hurt_. His seeping wounds and broken bones were a testament to that. And some would probably describe him as _wild_. His season untamable and uncontrollable and…deadly.

"Frostbite?"

Jack cringed. He wasn't ready to face them yet.

"Yer' safe, Jackie. They're gone."

He shuddered violently, small frame wrecked with trembles at the name. All he could hear was the mellifluous, childish voice ringing in his ears, drowning out everything else.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, yer' safe now." Bunny's voice was unnaturally soft. Had the searing and throbbing pain that burned throughout his thin body not been so intense and excruciating, he would have teased the rabbit, making a quick quip about caring like he did in the sleigh all those months ago. Instead, all he did was curl into himself tighter, slender arms wrapping around his aching chest protectively. His broken leg burned, the bones screaming in protest at the sudden movement. A small whimper left his blue-tinted lips.

"Oh, Sweet Tooth…" He could just imagine the Tooth Fairy reaching for him, petite hands seeking to comfort and hold him. And right then he wanted to fling his hurting body into her arms. He could do it. None of the Guardians would belittle him for it or mock him. He could easily get the affection he so desperately had been longing and yearning after for the three hundred lonely, long years.

It took all his strength to reign in the overwhelming need to seek the comfort, love and warmth that only Tooth could give and was so willing to share. It physically hurt to pull away from her.

"Easy, Sheila."

He both blessed and cursed Bunny for his intervention. He wanted Tooth to embrace him, to rub gentle, soothing circles on his back and tenderly weave her small, soft fingers through his hair. He wanted so desperately to be mothered. Yet at the same time, he wanted to flee, to get up and fly far, far away from the Guardians and their concerned eyes and interposing ways. He was used to dealing with these incidents on his own. Never had there been people there to console and comfort and treat his injuries. He just wasn't ready for that kind of trust yet. He did fine on his own. He'd gotten used and quite good at treating his own wounds and setting his own broken bones.

With a shaky sigh, he tried to push himself of the hard ground. He staggered forward, and promptly fell back down with a short cry of pain, his broken bones and charred skin protesting loudly at the pressure being put on them. He blinked back the tears blurring his hazy vision, as he tried once more to brace himself against the ground with trembling arms and push upward.

This time, when his weakened muscles gave out Bunny was there, one paw at his shoulder, the other ever so gently placing one of his arms around the Pooka's furry neck, supporting his weight. "Take it easy, Frostbite." Bunny said softly, readjusting Jack's slight weight. "I got ya'."

His arm throbbed painfully as Aster moved it, the dusty blue fabric of his sweatshirt rubbing against the burns liberally littering his arms. He bit back the yelp building in his throat.

Jack sagged against him, pain clouding his vision and making everything blurry and unfocused and so very, very far away. He somehow managed to pull his hood up, sighing in relief at the familiar weight of the cold fabric against his hair.

"Let's get 'im back ta' the Pole."

The Pole? Why would he want to go there? Wouldn't here be better? Yes. He wanted to stay here, by his lake. Burgess. Home. Or as close to a home he had.

He shifted, trying to wiggle free from Bunny's arms.

"Oi, Frostbite, wha'cha' doin?"

He could practically feel Bunny's eyes scrutinizing him. He didn't understand. None of them did.

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself." He mumbled as he pushed lightly at the Pooka's side, but his attempts were pitifully weak and without result, Bunny's furry arms were still around him. "Let me go."

"What's gotten into ya' Frostbite?"

"Please," he winced at how weak his voice sounded and he hated himself for having to resort to begging, but he didn't have the strength to do anything else. His vision was flickering in and out, the black spots threatening to darken his world completely and his head was so thick and filled with cotton it was hard to think straight. "Please, just let me go."

"Jack?" North. The sudden addition of a new voice had his head shooting up to look at the large Cossack, who'd stepped slightly closer, worry the prominent expression on his bearded face. It took him a whole second to stop the world from spinning and eyes from swimming.

No. It wasn't right. They shouldn't worry about him. He was fine. He could take care of himself. He'd done so for three hundred years. Why should things start changing now?

His struggles intensified, his thoughts a jumbled mess of pain and frustration and fright. He was scared. Scared of these new feelings of love and kindness being directed at him. At _him_. He didn't understand it. He didn't deserve it.

With a particularly hard jab to the Pooka's unprotected side, Bunny suddenly released him with a short yell of surprise. Jack staggered backward, hissing when he put too much weight on his injured leg.

Both North and Bunny took a small step closer, trying to bridge the gap he had made between them, but stopped short when Jack's electric blue irises shot up to glare at them, eyes becoming slits in a warning to stay where they were.

"We only want to help you Sweet Tooth." Tooth said softly, feet firmly planted in the snow and it suddenly struck him that the vibrant fairy didn't belong on the ground. "Let us take you home, Jack. Please."

Home? But he was home. The lake was right there. Couldn't they see it? He tried to utter the words, but his chapped lips refused to form them. No sounds left his abused throat. There was no need to take him anywhere. Didn't they see that? All he wanted was to find a nice, deep snowdrift to burrow in and let his soothing element treat his searing wounds and burns.

He finally found his voice, hoarse and small. "But, I am home."

The silence became almost tangible, thick and tense. The other Guardians looked around as if searching for something. Then their worried eyes turned back to him, sympathy and pity shining in their wide orbs.

"But Sweet Tooth—"

"A lake ain't a home Jackie."

He failed to suppress the shudder, thin frame trembling slightly. His eyes involuntarily clenched, his breathing growing rapid and irregular, leaving his lungs in small gasps. He did however manage to hold back the memories accompanying the nickname that threatened to resurface. He detested how a silly little cognomen could render him like this, a quivering, gasping wreck. He struggled against the stinging tears pooling against his tightly closed eyelids.

"Ya' a'right Frostbite?"

He inhaled deeply, trying and barely succeeding at regaining control of his mind and body. He nodded slowly, eyes downcast and dazed. He shifted to better stand on his leg, staff planted into the half frozen soil to add more support.

"Jackie—"

"Don't call me _that_!" He all but yelled, limping backwards as terrified, unrestrainable shivers shot up and down his spine. Arctic blue eyes snapped up to Bunny, no longer dazed but rather both pleading and furious at the same time.

Bunny's paws were up instantly, placatingly, his large, furry ears lowered to his head. "Okay, okay, I won't call ya' tha'. Take it easy, Snowflake."

Jack breathed deeply, eyes still wild and wide and pale, trembling fingers clutched his staff painfully tight. After a few silent minutes he managed to calm down, though the pain flaring _everywhere_ made it hard to breathe evenly.

"What was all tha' about, mate?"

Jack stiffened instantly. "Nothing." Curt. Defensive. He stared at them, willing them to let this go, to just leave him alone. No such luck.

He could clearly see, even through his increasingly foggy vision, as Bunny's fur bristled, whiskers twitching in irritation and anger. "Who were they, Frost?"

"No one." Jack muttered through gritted teeth, his own annoyance rising in tandem with Bunny's. "They were no one."

"Don't shit with me, Jack." Bunny hopped closer but halted at Jack's fierce, feverish glare. He could feel frost creeping up his neck and face, the cool feeling soothing his warm, injured skin.

"Ya' better spit it out Frostbite, or so help me…"

"I'm not gonna' tattletale, Kangaroo." He said evenly, defiantly, tone acerbic and cold like the element he wielded, knuckles turning paler than what should be possible as his grip on his staff tightened even more. "It's my problem to deal with. On. My. Own."

"And a heck of a job yer' doing too, Frostbite." Bunny snorted, sarcastically, emerald eyes glaring at him.

"Bunny!" Tooth hissed. "That's not helping." She tentatively fluttered closer, eyes firmly locked on his, clearly tasting the waters, not wanting to cause him further discomfort. A spark of warmth flared to life in his chest, not the painful burning shooting like electricity through every fiber of his being, but a gentle, tender warmness that took away some of the tension in his stiff limbs. "Sweet Tooth," she cooed then, a concerned, maternal note in her soft voice. "We only want to help you."

"I'm fine." He responded curtly, automatically, but ice-blue eyes averted to the ground as not to see the hurt look entering Tooth's kind orbs. "I can take care of myself. I'm good at being alone."

 _You left me alone for three hundred years. You didn't care._ The words weren't said aloud, but seemed to hang in the air between them nevertheless.

He could hear Tooth suck in a sharp breath, could imagine the pained look on her beautiful face, and he cursed himself for hurting her. His anger dissipated immediately, guilt and exhaustion taking its place. He stumbled slightly and had to use his staff to prevent himself from falling. When he looked up, face slightly flushed and eyes bleary he could see the others inching closer, arms twitching as if ready to catch him should he topple over. The spark of warmth from before flared to life again. They couldn't actually care, could they?

Using his staff to prop himself up straight, ignoring the throbbing pain pulsating in his broken leg, he tried to regain some semblance of control of his beaten and rapidly deteriorating body. However, the next time he spoke, the words were soft, his tone weary and tinged with poorly concealed fatigue.

"Just leave me alone."

"Not gonna' happen, Snowflake."

"But—"

"No." Bunny cut him off, one paw slightly raised, but lowered the second Jack winced and cringed violently. "No ifs, buts or ands about it." His tone softened. "Let us take care of ya', Snowflake."

North, who'd been uncharacteristically silent shifted restlessly, naughty and nice lax at his side, but twitching in barely suppressed rage, large hands curled into tight fists. "Jack."

Automatically, he shifted his eyes from Bunny to North's burly from. It was getting harder see, the black spots having begun to multiply, obscuring his vision almost completely.

"I can take care of myself." He repeated, not sure who he was trying to reassure anymore. He'd been hurt before. Numerous times in fact, but he'd forgotten just how _painful_ it was. Everything **hurt**.

"We know that, Jack. But you shouldn't have to. Not anymore." Tooth soft voice brought him back and away from his injuries and pain. She hung back a little ways away with Sandy, feet still on the ground and wings folded neatly at her back. They twitched slightly every few second, a testament to her restlessness. Big, cerise colored eyes locked with his and he quickly found that he couldn't look away. Her concern for him was almost palpable, radiating of the deep worry-lines and crinkles on her petite face and reflecting in her bright orbs.

"Let us take care of you for once." Warm. Inviting. Motherly.

It was tempting, so very tempting to just go with them, to let himself be whisked away to the Pole where Bunny would treat his wounds, North would give him too hot hot-chocolate, Sandy would gently pat his leg supportingly and Tooth would tenderly stroke his hair as she murmured words of comfort and commiseration.

But then there would be questions, questions he was not ready to answer. There would be looks of sympathy and regret and guilt, looks he wasn't yet prepared to deal with.

He was used to taking care of himself. He'd done it for three hundred years. Letting someone else care for him was a strange and scary thought. A thought that had never even crossed his mind before now.

But letting others care for him equaled trusting them, and trust was an even more foreign thing for him.

Jack Frost trusted no one.

He learned that within years after being born.

The Groundhog always lied to him, giving him more days of winter than what was true, sending him to places where the snow had long since melted and Persephone and her angry spring sprites lay in wait or leave him trying to flee from sudden heatwaves where the rodent said it would still be winter a few weeks more. Other spirits used every opportunity to use and exploit him, misusing his trust from the very beginning until he learned to trust no one but himself.

Could he let himself trust others again?

Looking at the four Guardians in front of him the answer came almost instantly, surprising him and taking him completely off guard. Yes. Yes, he could.

He met North's caring gaze, the Guardian of Wonder was looking warmly at him, patiently awaiting his answer, hope and sadness flickered across those crystal-blue irises.

He breathed in deeply before allowing his head to bob up and down in an uncertain, slow nod, blue eyes unsure and vulnerable.

The Guardians reaction was instantaneous. A collective breath of relief that seemed to ease the tension. They shared a small smile before turning back to him.

"Come on then, Snowflake." Bunny rumbled, ears slightly tilted backwards and whiskers twitching. "Let's get ya' back ta' the Pole so we can treat those wounds."

As Bunny helped him limp towards the sleigh, he found himself dreading the journey to the Pole. He just knew the silence there would be filled with question of who, how and why. He had the sudden urge to wrench out of Bunny's supporting arms and take off somewhere he knew the Guardians would not find him.

He bit down hard on his lower lip and almost gagged at the cobbery taste that coated his tongue as a result. Every aching muscle in his beaten and exhausted body screamed at him to get out, to find shelter, to hide in a snowdrift until healed once more. It took almost everything he had left to suppress the acute need to escape.

As his free hand (the one not slung around Bunny's neck) touched the polished red gloss of the sleigh, panic sized him and he faltered.

"Frostbite?"

"I—I think…" He stuttered, heart pounding fast and loud. "I—I changed my mind."

They stopped, or he stopped, forcing Bunny to halt as well. He looked uncertainly at the sleigh, then back at Bunny. He was seconds away from repeating his earlier struggles and bolting and he would have too, had Bunny not tightened his hold, expertly preventing him from jabbing him again.

"Oh no ya' don't, ya' bloody popsicle." Bunny's slightly annoyed, exasperated features visibly wilted when he realized the trueness of his words, and Jack fought and suppressed the need to shield his beaten body from view. He could practically feel the Pooka's eyes on him as the Guardian of Hope's gaze shifted from his charred, blistered face to his twisted leg, then over his scratched skin and the blotches of blood oozing through his blue hoodie.

"Ah, Jacki—Snowflake," Jack flinched, eyes squeezed shut as Persephone's sickly sweet voice echoed mockingly in his head. He wrenched away from Bunny, taking a couple of panicked, limping steps back, his staff now the only thing supporting his shaking body. Bunny corrected himself quickly and had the decency to look sheepish. Jack missed it all.

"Jack?"

"Moy mal'chick?"

"Frostbite, I didn't mean—"

"I'm fine." He reassured, or tried to but his voice cracked and he coughed violently, body shuddering from the exertion. He staggered, thin frame jerking as rigid spasms shook him.

He vaguely heard the others call his name, but their frantic voices was lost in the roaring inside his head and the loud thumping of his pulse in his ears. When the convulsions finally left his body, he was gasping for air and leaning heavily on his staff which was still remarkably lodged deep in the snow.

When he looked up from his hunched over position he was surprised to find that the others hadn't moved. Their expressions were a mix of horror and deep-seated concern and anxiety.

He grimaced, then cringed as his burned cheeks protested loudly. "I'm fine." He repeated more strongly.

"Jack," North began, eyebrow furrowed in growing concern as he took a small step closer. "I don't think…"

"I'm fine, North." Jacked waved the Russian off, twisting his staff in his hands. "Promise."

"No, yer're not."

He glared at Bunny. "I don't need your help. I can take of myself." He spat, jaw clenched and feverish eyes blazing angrily.

"The heck of a job yer doin' too." The Pooka gestured to his beaten and bloody body that was only standing upraised because of one flimsy looking staff. "Ya' can barely keep yerself' on yer' feet." Green eyes landed on his broken leg. "Foot." He corrected with a slight wince.

"Leave me alone." Jack muttered, eyes averted and hidden underneath his snowy locks. He shifted more weight onto his good leg, biting back the wince that threatened escape his split lip as the movement jostled his other wounds.

"Frostbite—"

North held up a hand, cutting Bunny short. He slowly shook his head, silently telling the Pooka to back off. Due to his eyes being glued to the ground, Jack didn't catch the gesture. He waited for Bunnymund's harsh voice and was taken by surprise when North was the one to speak.

His eyes shot up at the Cossack just to catch the large man stepping forward once more. He automatically backed away a couple of limped steps.

"Jack, we're not going to force you to do anything you don't want—

"The hell we are! Just look at'im North! The lil' blighter's barely conscious. He'll kill himself before—"

"As I was saying," A pointed look directed at Bunny. Jack had to hide a small, weak chuckle. "But I do theenk you should come back to Pole weet us, my boy. Just so wee can treat your injuries. No strings attached."

Jack eyed the Cossack suspiciously, searching for any kind of deception but his big, crystal blue eyes only showed honesty and sincerity.

Without Bunny's support, he struggled to stay upright, his legs shook so badly it was a wonder they hadn't given out yet. Every fiber of his being hurt, every nerve-ending felt as if they were on fire.

He unconsciously shifted his broken leg and the excruciating pain radiating up his leg had him gasping for air. He could almost feel the bones grinding against each other and a small whimper left his tightly clenched lips. Black spots danced across his clouded vision and he swayed slightly, his good leg and staff the only things keeping him partly upright.

It even hurt to hold it staff. The plethora of burns running up and down his arms making every movement painful and taxing. His arms shook visibly at the strain of clutching the staff, the weight put on them barely enough to hold him upright. He could feel the aged-old wood shake beneath his pale fingers.

With every movement of arms and shoulder blades the blistering skin around the searing burns on his back stretched, sending waves of excruciating pain up and down his spine. He struggled to keep the tears from trickling down his charred cheeks. He really didn't want to experience that pain again any time soon.

It burned and it hurt so badly! He wanted to cry out, curl into a tight ball, and rock the pain away. He wanted it all to stop hurting so damn much. He was so, so tired of it all, of pain and injuries and fighting. He blinked back tears, exhausted, suffering blue eyes covered in a haze of pain. He was so **tired**.

But he forced himself to focus, to acknowledge all his injuries, their throbbing, pulsating sensation against his fevered skin, their burning, stinging pain that was unrelenting, sapping his strength and leaving him a weak, trembling mess.

Everything **hurt**.

He looked at the Guardians surrounding him. All wore concerned and anxious expressions, troubled eyes brimming with honest solicitude and warmth and promises of protection.

But anger simmered behind those worried, perturbed looks. Fury not directed at him but those who'd hurt him. His heart swelled with emotions so new to him it threw him for a loop and he shifted nervously, this time careful not to agitate his broken leg. Still, shots of intense, searing pain raced through his body, leaving him breathless.

He saw Tooth take a step forward, petite hands reaching for him, but he jerked away from the well-meaning hands, not missing the hurt look that crossed the fairy's delicate features.

"Sweet Tooth, we only want to help you." Tooth kept her voice soft, cerise eyes pleading with him to hear her out. "Please let us help you. We weren't there for you in the past, but we're here now Jack, and we want to take care of you."

"Why?" It was too good to be true. They had no reason to care about him. No one did. And no one had ever done.

"Cuz' yer part'a' our crazy lil' family, Snowflake." The old Pooka fixed him with a stare so intense it was impossible to look away. "And family look afta' and care for each other ya' dill." Bunny continued to hold his gaze, spring green eyes burning with sincerity as if trying to make him understand, make him see that he was important to them. He **_mattered_** to them.

"We _love_ you, Jack." Though tenderly whispered from soft, pink-tinted lips, the words were said with such warmth, with such passion and conviction his heart stuttered and eyes stung with unshed tears.

They **_cared_**. About **_him_**.

Tooth was standing on the ground, petite feet digging into the snow-dusted soil, iridescent wings lax behind her, twitching occasionally. She looked so small and vulnerable. So unlike the powerful, regal warrior queen he'd gotten to know. He couldn't hurt her. He didn't want to yell at them anymore, to spew the bitter words that was burning at the back of his throat. Three hundred years of being ignored was painful and not so easy to forgive, but the looks on their faces whenever the topic of his isolation was brought up were so heavy with guilt, regret and self-loathing that he never purposely wanted to be the one to cause them. They were trying to make up for all the years spent longing for acknowledgement and companionship, for all those painful nights spent hurt and so utterly alone, of all the moments spent wondering why and every day spent in solitude, lost and shunned. That they were here now was proof of that. They didn't ignore him. Not anymore. They didn't leave him to tend to his injuries. They didn't mock him for being weak. They **_cared_**.

He noticed Sandy standing a little ways from the others, a conflicted look on his usually calm and smiling face as if internally debating something—

"No, Sandy! Don't—"

The little man looked up sharply, his surprised expression cutting his protest short. A golden question mark appeared above the pudgy man's head.

"Sorry…" Had one of his hands been free, he would've rubbed his neck sheepishly. Instead, he ducked his head, a dusted purple coloring his burned cheeks, barely visible underneath the charred skin. A thin film of frost accompanied the blush. The cold was a relief though short lived as the thin coating melted within seconds of forming. "I thought…you know…the Dreamsand…"

Sandy chuckled silently at his struggle. The golden man just waved him off, forming a few signs clearly stating that he was thinking no such thing. And Jack suddenly felt incredibly stupid and ill at ease at even having thought such a thing. Then again, the thought hadn't been unwarranted. Sandy _had_ , on occasion and against his clearly expressed will, sprinkled him with his extremely potent sand. Though he countered that doing so now, in this situation would not only threaten the little trust they had gained from him, it would also assure them that he would never turn to them for help if, _when_ , something like this happened again. They couldn't afford it. And Sandy, as the oldest and wisest of the Guardians was well aware of this. Sandy would never intentionally break his trust.

The Dreamweaver gestured to the sleigh, then at Jack, then back at the sleigh. Then small sand figurines of all five of them sitting in the contraption together, the four of them huddled around the fifth figure protectively and caringly.

"Sandy, I—"

The Sandman shook his head, an x appearing between his golden spikes of hair. Then the five figures were back, this time sitting spread around a bed occupied by the smallest figure.

"Just do as the man tells ya' too, Frostbite. Sandy's a right stubborn bloke."

The others chuckled softly, the tension lifting slightly.

Shaking his head slowly as to not aggravate his injuries or nausea, he sighed in defeat, shoulders slumping as the rest of his fight fled him. He had no strength left to protest and fleeing didn't appeal as much anymore. He was **so** tired.

Half-lidded blue eyes shifted to the sleigh parked a few meters away by the lakeshore. Dread filled him as he eyed the glossy contraption. The jarring and jolting motions of the sleigh would hurt. Badly. Right now, he really didn't love the sleigh…

Golden light flashed in his peripheral vision and he turned to see Sandy make some Dreamsand symbols but it was too fast for his exhausted, pain-dulled mind and too blurry for his hazy vision to comprehend.

"Sandy's right." Tooth said, translating for him. She gave him a motherly smile before turning to the Guardian of Wonder. "Can't we take him straight through one of your portals, North?"

North eyed him carefully, clearly taking in every injury, every burn and every broken bone and visibly deflating, usually vibrant blue eyes dulled with sadness, worry and defeat. "No, boy iz too injured. The stress on the body iz too great."

Jack turned to Bunny, eyes hopeful and pleading, shaking hands twisting his staff.

But the Guardian of Hope only shook his head dejectedly. "Yer' too injured fer' ma' tunnels Jacki—Snowflake."

Jack huffed, the breath leaving his lips as a puff of frost.

"Let Sandy knock ya' out Frostbite." Bunny said, hopping over to stand by his shoulder. "It'll save ya' from the pain. Cuz' I hafta' tell ya' that it will _hurt_."

Jack eyed the Sandman warily. "I don't want to sleep." That was not the actual reason, but he couldn't very well tell them that he didn't want them to treat his wounds while he was knocked out because he didn't want them seeing the scars safely hidden underneath his too-big hoodie. He needed to be awake and aware so he could stop them from prying where they should not. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that. He may be ready to trust them with taking care of him, but he was not yet ready to disclose his deepest, darkest memories.

"Jack—"

"No."

"Then he won't, Jack." North reassured, clearly trying not to push him past his fragile limits. "You have my promise, moy mal'chik."

He swayed again, feet stumbling forward as he lost his balance, his trembling fingers no longer having any strength left to hold the flimsy looking staff. It tumbled from pale fingers and landed with a soft thud on the ground. His working leg gave out soon after and he pitched sideways, straight into Bunny's waiting arms. "I got'cha Jacki—Frost."

He clung to Bunny's furry chest as the older Guardian gently shifted his body. As one of the Pooka's arms encircled his shoulders, it pressed against the plethora of burns on his back. An inhuman screech tore out of his abused throat. Violent spasms made his body shudder and writhe in Bunny's arms. He was barely aware of someone calling his name but his mind was too clouded with pain to really care.

The others crowded around him, their faces a picture of anxiousness and worry. He didn't see any of them. His eyes were clenched to try to stop the pain. It was an ultimately fruitless attempt, but he did it nonetheless.

Whimpers left his lips in dozens, small hands balled into fist as he clung to Bunny's fur. The Guardian of Hope nudged him with his wet nose, stirring the damp locks of white hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, trying to soothe him, he guessed. The Pooka always did that when he was hurt or upset. It always worked. Even now. He could feel his body relax, rigid muscles slumping slightly. He sighed in relief as the tension slowly left his small frame.

"Let's get ya' home, Snowflake."

This time Jack didn't panic when they neared the sleigh. He cuddled closer to Bunny, ignoring how his wounds smarted and burns stung. But a sharp cry tumbled of his tongue as his broken leg was jarred when Bunny handed him to North before he jumped into the sleigh. Another shrill cry rang loud when he was given back to the Guardian of Hope.

A wet nose was at his face again, gently nuzzling his forehead, the only place not burned or otherwise injured. "M'sorry."

He settled back against Bunny's chest, careful not to agitate his wounds further.

"Try ta' be as gentle as ya' can a'right?"

North nodded as he took the reins. It was going to be a long and painful trip to the Pole. He shot a look at the injured child barely awake in Bunny's arms, looking so young and vulnerable it hurt to look at him.

He waited until Tooth and Sandy were settled, both took a seat on each side of Bunnymund, concerned eyes locked on the injured Winter Spirit, before giving the reindeers the command to begin the long way home.

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 **Reviews are deeply appreciated!**


	17. Redeemability

**Just a short little something for you, my lovely readers. I really hope you like it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen: Redeemability**

Why the kid kept trying, Bunnymund would never know.

The frost spirit had been tailing him around the Warren for over two hours now. How the boy believed he could do any of the sort, Bunny could only wonder. A stomping elephant was more apt at stealth than the slight teen constantly flitting between branches and bushes. The kid really couldn't hold still to save his life.

Before the little pest had tried to sneak around him, the Pooka had been occupied with removing the destroyed eggshells left in the Nightmare's wake after the Easter-fiasco a few weeks prior. It was a long a tedious job, but one that had to be done regardless. He could always leave them to rot, but the artist in him found that a little too hard to do. No, he would scoop them up and deal with the problem then. Beforehand, he had to sweep all the tunnels littered with the meticulously painted shells of his beloved googies. The aftermath of the war with the Nightmare King had left little time for sorting out the devastation in his Warren. The Guardians had all been preoccupied with getting the little lights flickering again to do much on the home front.

Thus, the Pooka found himself with seven continental tunnels and millions of broken and scattered eggshells to remove. The Easter Bunny was _not_ in a pleasant mood. So, when a usually mischievous immortal teenager with a love for pranking invaded his domain, his patient was already halfway to hell. It did _not_ help that Jack kept tailing him, sneaking around, in and out of sight like a bloody meerkat.

When a particularly loud _snap_ rang throughout the tunnel he was sweeping, quickly followed by a muted _shoot_ , he'd had enough. He all but hurled the broom at ground, stomped around the impressive pile of broken eggshells and leaped out into his lush home bellowing with clear exaggeration and annoyance.

"Oy! Frostbite! Com'ere!"

A small white head peeked out form the canopy of a lush weeping willow-tree, staff in hand. "Hey there, Kangaroo." The teen smiled sheepishly, obviously trying not to look like a kid getting caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

A cold breeze whipped against Bunny's form as the teen's feet left solid wood and became airborne. He didn't suppress the shiver. When he turned to face the youth, Jack stood in front of him, bare feet sinking into soft grass, a delicate layer of hoarfrost slowly spreading underfoot, azure eyes apprehensive. Had Bunny not been on his last nerve already, he would have paused. Why was it that the kid always seemed to be prepared for the worst? But the Pooka's patient was wearing thin at the moment, and even though it was unfair of him to let the boy before him take the brunt of it by simply being in the wrong place at the really wrong time, he couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth.

"What do'ya want, Jack?" It came out harsher than intended and Jack flinched. Bunny regretted his tone as he watched the youth's face fall, nervous smile fading and a despondent expression taking its place. He could see the boy draw the shepherd's crook just a little closer, fingers tightening around the age-old wood.

The Winter Spirit visibly shrunk under the Easter Guardian's hard gaze. "Do you—I-I mean, is there, er, can I—"

He really didn't have patient for the "ums" and "wells" today. "Spit it out al'ready, ya' gumby."

If the slight teen could seem any smaller, Bunny would be impressed. He couldn't recall the kid ever looking so unsure and reserved, wary yes, skittish definitely, but not this timid.

There was a small lull in the partly one-sided conversation, in which the Guardian of Fun seemed to shake himself free of the insecurities plaguing his mind. For when the Winter child looked up, those strikingly blue eyes met Aster's head on, narrow shoulders squared and voice steady.

"Do you need a hand?" When the silence stretched on, the immortal teenager seemingly thought he was in need of clarification. "Can I help you with anything?"

Aster wasn't ignorant. But he _was_ taken slightly aback with the blunt offering of help so soon. He would have expected the kid to pop up come Easter, not in the wake of their battle. He knew Jack felt guilty, heck, it was so plainly written all over the newly appointed Guardian's face one must be blind not to see it. It was clear as day that Aster blamed Jack for the Easter fiasco, and he hadn't exactly done anything to convince the kid of otherwise.

Their relationship had always been strained and rocky, and it only grew worse until accumulating in '68. Bunny couldn't say that he had ever cared much for the troublesome Winter Spirit, and he had never even considered seeking the frivolous teen for conversational purposes, least of all to get to know him. At the time, he thought of Jack as nothing but an irresponsible, selfish nuisance only good for freezing water pipes and messing with his egg hunts. A no good teenage hellion with an impish face and a puckish grin only prone to make disasters and destroying holidays. Now he understood the reason behind Jack's mischievous attitude. The kid only wanted someone to see him, and the only way anyone ever paid him any attention at all was through pranks and mischief. It was only after getting to know the kid that Aster recognized the boy's actions for what they were: a desperate plea for someone to prove his existence. To say, "Hi, I _see_ you." To talk to him. To touch him. And be _friendly_.

To say the Guardian of Hope felt guilty was an understatement of infinite proportions. Looking back on their past now had the proud warrior Pooka cringe in shame. Why did he have to always make his position so bluntly clear? Why did he always go for the low blows when they occasionally clashed, pointing out the young spirit's insecurities and hopes and ruthlessly crushing them, never taking note of the hunched shoulders, the tight white-knuckle grip on a trembling wooden staff, raised frost-rimmed hoodie shielding way too expressive, averted blue eyes?

It was brutally obvious that he had misjudged the boy to such a degree that it was almost humiliating. Jack Frost would always be the spirit of mischief and chaos personified, but now he knew the real Jack, the child behind the playful façade. The very lonely, insecure, wary child who just wanted to _belong_ somewhere. A child who'd become an expert in the art of crafting masks and hide behind pranks and mischievous, cocky grins and laughter. A child who hid his emotions by frolicking in the snow among children who never even knew he was playing with them, orchestrate the snowball fights and sleigh rides. A child who'd continued to do so for three centuries. A child whom _they_ had isolated and ignored for three hundred years.

It would take strenuous efforts from both of them to make this work, to mend the fragile relation between them. That Jack was the one to reach out first came as no surprise to Bunny. The kid was more selfless than what was healthy.

The Guardian of Hope shook his head; the boy was still waiting for a response. Aster was happy to find that during his inner musings his anger at Pitch as well as his irritation with the rangy Winter Spirit before him had subsided.

The immortal teen was for once grounded, bare toes wiggling restlessly into the spring green grass, the morning dew around his feet freezing to elegant hailstones sparkling like diamonds as they caught the morning rays. He was standing straight though his shoulders were slightly hunched and head bowed, looking extremely anxious and uncomfortable. That the teen was not leaning lazily on his staff in a posture of nonchalance and carefreeness that had been perfected through three hundred years, spoke volumes of just how out of his element, how nervous and apprehensive Jack Frost actually was.

The poor boy looked like Aster already had shot him down. Jack was more prepared for dejection and mocking than acceptance and to be wanted by others. Well, Bunny would rectify that right now. He was the Guardian of Hope after all, and Jack for all his frosty cockiness had very little left. Bunnymund would be sure to tend and nurse the light of hope, however weak and flickering. That it was still there even after three centuries of isolation and solitude was proof of just how tough and resilient Jack was. Bunny would make sure hope bloomed even in the harshest of winters.

Jack looked two seconds from bolting, shuffling his feet uneasily and fiddling with his staff, twisting the flimsy looking wood in his small hands, pale fingers expertly roving over the old grooves. The kid was the physical description of 'fidgety'.

At Bunny's blatant staring, a furtive look entered the kid's cerulean eyes and the young Guardian averted his eyes, finding a spot on the ground near his bare feet suddenly very interesting.

"Look Jackie…" He began carefully, a small part of him wanting to surprise and take the other off guard, to see hope bloom on that expressive, young face.

A white head snapped up, frozen mop of a hairstyle wild and wind-tousled. Wide, cerulean eyes stared up at him, apprehension swirling in the blue depths.

"I know ya' want ta' help, but I can't have ya' freezin' everythin'." He gestured to the ground were delicate frost ferns were decorating the grass underneath the Winter Spirits pale feet, slowly spreading outward.

He expected a cocksure remark, a quick quip of some kind. He did not expect the crestfallen look that entered Jack's eyes nor the dejected slumping of his thin shoulders.

"I…I see." The whispered words were so low and hollow and so filled with three centuries worth of dejections that it left Bunny speechless, the words of acceptance at Jack's offering of help dying in his throat.

"I'll just…I'll be leaving then." Jack jerked around, the wind already tugging at the young spirit's cloths and whispering secretive words in his ear.

Just as the slight teen took to the air, Bunny snapped out of his stupor and hopped closer, grabbing Jack's ankle and tugging him down again.

"Would ya' be still fer' once in yer' bloody life?" He snapped, slightly irritated over the frost teen's fight or flight response to everything. "I wasn't finished yet ya' dill."

"But…But…" Jack stammered, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing rather hilariously. "You said that—

"I know wha' I said, Frostbite. It didn't come out right." He struggled to form the needed words to placate the insecure teen. Struth, he was no good at stuff like this. He ran a paw over his head, briefly bending his long ears backward. "I wasn't kickin' ya' out Frostbite, I was settin' some ground rules."

Jack looked positively dumbfounded. "You mean that…"

The old warrior watched with a fond, smug expression as comprehension dawned on those awfully young features. Jack's face lit up brighter than North's personal Christmas tree, then it faltered and warped into a mask of incredulousness.

"Really?" Disbelief was strong in the Winter child's slightly shaking voice and Bunny's ears folded for a second before returning to their formal position. Guilt was a raw knot inside him, aching and pulsing like an open wound.

He gently shook himself and nodded, turning his focus back on their newest member who for all his worth never could seem to be still. The kid was bouncing with excitement. Excitement and pure happiness at finally, finally after three hundred years of loneliness having been _accepted_.

A sudden whim had the Guardian of Hope reaching out to playfully ruffle Jack's snow-white locks, eliciting merry peals of giggles from the teen. He grudgingly had to admit that he preferred seeing Jack like this, spirited and happy not despondent and furtive.

Bunny looked fondly down at the youth and gave the glowing boy a smirk. "If ya' wanna help Frosty, ya' can." As an afterthought as well as a way to expel the lingering heavy atmosphere, he added rather cockily, "Not sure yer scrawny arms can handle all the sweeping though."

And with that playful, cheeky Jack was back, all ridiculous happy energy and frivolous, elated grins and mischievous attitude, ice-blue eyes bright and eager and no longer clouded and dimmed with three hundred years of abandonment and dejection.

Even if the little snowcone was to 'accidentally' freeze his Warren, Bunny decided that seeing the genuine smile on Jack's face made it worth it.

* * *

 **As you have probably already figured out, I'm a sucker for Jack/Bunny brotherly fluff. Just something I threw together when the infamous writer's block left my brain empty while writing the second chapter to the Three Seasonal Spirits arc. What do you think?**

 **If you have any request don't hesitate to voice them. I would love to get some ideas from you!**

 **And thanks to all who have reviewed! I'm really grateful for your wonderful praises and advices! Thanks to those who favorited and followed! Welcome to my story.**

 **PS. I have revised parts of the fight scene in the last chapter. It was so kindly pointed out to me that the scene was a bit hard to picture. (Thank you so much for that Barracuda57! I really appreciate it.) I hope this clarifies things up a little! Check it out if you want to.**

 **Catch ya' later ^^**


	18. The Three Seasonal Spirits Pt 2

**This chapter is currently being revised and rewritten! It will be re-plublished in a few days! Please bear with me!**

 **~T.**


	19. Defining Moment

**This one's for you Barracuda57, hope it will hold you over until the next one :P**

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 **Chapter Nineteen: Defining Moment**

"Jamie!"

Almost before the last vowel left his mouth, he was zipping through the dark, sinister, skin-crawling lair in a blur of blue and brown, leaving in his wake a flurry of snowflakes and frost. The ever-present wind curled around him protectively, warning off the reaching shadows and snapping Nightmares, and leading him through the winding, black tunnels before shooting him up into the overcast night sky where it swirled around him, tugging at his clothes and ruffling his frosted hair. Then he was off again, zipping across the sky at breakneck speed, sharp-angled jaw set, blue eyes sparking with determination and a tight grip on his staff.

He arrived at the Bennett's house within minutes. He faltered, hesitated and hovered in front of Jamie's window, unsure of what to do, his determination and resolution seemingly having abandoned him altogether. The boy's window was ajar and he could hear a young, wavering voice whispering from inside.

"Okay, look." Jamie said pointedly and serious. "You and I are obviously at what they call a 'crossroad'. So, here's what's gonna' happen…"

He closed the distance between himself and the window.

Jamie was sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking concentratedly at a stuffed rabbit with a determined expression.

"If it wasn't a dream." He leaned forward, torso bent over his crossed legs, bracing his weight on his thin arms, thus closing the distance and bringing himself to eye level with the stuffed toy. "And if you are real, then you have to prove it. Like right _now_."

The desperation in Jamie's voice was almost palpable and made him want to burst inside and _grab_ the young boy's small shoulders and _prove_ to him that they were _all_ real! But he couldn't. He could stand and yell at the boy, flail his arms and scream some more and it would do jack to get the child's attention. He would know, he'd tried it plenty of times. After all, three hundred years were a long time to go unnoticed, unseen and never spoken to.

He watched Jamie stare at the stuffed rabbit, a small spark of hope remaining in sad, brown orbs. As the seconds ticked by and nothing happened, Jamie's expressive eyes dimmed, brows furrowing in despondency and disappointment. He slowly crouched by the window, his own face taking on the same sad expression as the boy on the bed, desperately looking at his stuffed rabbit and hoping for a sign that would never come.

The worst part was that there was nothing he could do! He was useless. He was invisible. And he might as well not exist for all the use he was.

Jamie gave a soft sigh, lips slightly pursed. "I believed in you for a _long time_ , okay? Like my whole life in fact." He sat up straight, small hands gripping the stuffed bunny under the armpits and bringing the toy up close to his face. "So you kind of owe me now." There was a short break and when he continued there was a small spark of hope flaring to life in his young voice. "You don't have to do much! Just a little sign so I know…"

Sadness and regret. Those were the two emotions warring for dominance inside him as he stared at Jamie, the small boy still clinging to a waning hope. He hated seeing Jamie like this. The boy was supposed to be in constant motion, lively telling his friends about the mysteries of the world, about the eternal, mythical beings and holiday spirits.

"Anything, anything at all…" Jamie's voice was barely a whisper now, but his voice held so much anticipation, so much admiration and trust Jack suddenly felt like he was intruding on something personal and private, something not meant for his eyes. No one had ever _spoken_ to him like that, in a _tone_ like that, with a _look_ like that. He should be looking away, give the boy a moment of the privacy he believed he had, but he couldn't find the will to avert his eyes. He yearned to be looked at that way, with a warmness and a tenderness unparalleled. He only got shunning glares and spiteful eyes. He savored the emotions swirling in Jamie's dark orbs, pretending, if only for a moment, that those expressive eyes were directed at _him_. He let his eyelids drop and allowed himself a small smile, just a quirk of the lips. It was gone before he could blink and no one would ever know it had ever however briefly, grazed his lips.

When the silence stretched on, his, mostly dry, eyes snapped to Jamie again just to see the small boy's expression falter, wavering between childish hopes and adolescent realization.

"I knew it." Jamie's shoulders slumped in blatant disappointment. He let the stuffed bunny fall to the floor, eyes averted to the side.

No, no, no, no! This wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to end like this. He frantically searched the room, eyes flickering desperately over the boyish interior looking for something, _anything_ , which could help him reach the distraught boy.

Having surveyed the room for the umpteenth time and coming away just as blank and frustrated, his eyes found Jamie's hunched form again. The boy had turned away from the stuffed rabbit lying forgotten on the cold floor, turned away from the window, turned away from him, small shoulders slumped in misery, and Jack found himself wanting nothing more than to make the boy smile again, _believe_ again. For Jamie was an amazing boy, so full of wondrous belief, creativity and happiness. This, this downcast, dispirited boy was not _his_ Jamie.

With a new resolve, he gently reached out and pushed the window open further, just enough to allow his slight body to slip soundlessly, unnoticed inside.

Jamie sat motionless on the bed, legs crossed, shoulders slumped and head bowed. A soft, almost inaudible broken sob left the boy's pink-tinted lips. Jamie's eyes were shielded from view by his hair, but Jack could make out half-lidded eyes glazed by a film of unshed tears. The small boy looked like the world had abandoned and disappointed him in the worst way possible. A feeling Jack knew all too well. His frozen heart clenched painfully and he had to avert his gaze.

He half turned away, his eyes finding the window he just crept through, and just like that, he got an idea. An idea that just might work…

With more confidence than he was feeling he fully turned to face the window, his own pale reflection staring back at him, and with a slightly trembling hand, he reached out and gently touched the pane. He felt his power surge beneath his skin. The glass frosted easily and without much prompting, the crackling of ice loud in the otherwise silent room. With one pale, slender finger, he lightly began to trace the cold digit over the pane, drawing the rough outline of an Easter egg.

A small gasp from behind alerted him that he'd managed to draw the boy's attention. His heart stuttered, picked up and began to hammer against his ribs at the small victory. He could feel Jamie's eyes follow his every movement, or rather the invisible finger drawing on his suddenly frost covered windowpane. It was exhilarating nonetheless!

Once the egg was complete, he unhesitatingly continued on to the next windowpane, delicate frost ferns winding across the glass as his fingers ghosted over the small pane, a faint smile quirking his lips. Behind him, he could hear Jamie move, and the rustle of clothes and bedsheets told him that the boy had risen.

He'd never had someone's undiluted attention before. Sure, he'd caused humans to squeak and look around in bewilderment when he deliberately caused a chill to run down their spines, or flail around when they slipped on some slick sleet that suddenly appeared under their feet. But that wasn't the same. They weren't looking at him. They weren't even aware he was there in the first place. Jamie however was staring straight at him, or rather at the out of the blue frost and the magically appearing finger drawings, but still the boy knew he was there, or that someone was present at the very least. It was more than he could or had ever _hoped_ for. His first real interaction with a human in three hundred years! Happiness was a living thing inside him, and with a barely contained glee, he threw himself into his sketching, letting his index finger dance over the glass pane.

"He's real."

The mutter was soft and Jamie's small, shocked voice broke slightly half way.

His finger faltered, then halted a bare inch from the glass, and for a second he stopped breathing. A sad but genuine smile slowly spread across his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a happy smile nonetheless. He knew Jamie was thinking about the Easter Bunny, not him. Still, he pressed on. Jamie deserved to keep his childlike wonder, his innocence and imaginativeness. He did this for his Jamie. He lightly pressed his finger against the glass, drawing a bunny this time.

Just as he connected the final line, he turned to look at Jamie. The boy was standing awestruck on his bead, mouth agape and eyes wide, staring in wonder and hope at the frost covered window. And this time, when he felt the foreign feeling of his lips curling upwards, he knew without shadow of a doubt that this smile was completely and utterly one of joyfulness and contentment. The look of amazement on Jamie's face had warmth fill his entire being, a comfortable, soothing warmth he'd never felt before and knew he would forever remember and yearn for once the lonely nights returned. Amazement directed at his frost, at his creation. No one had _ever_ looked at his work of art with anything close to that before. It was exhilarating, even knowing that Jamie didn't know it was him.

With a sudden burst of creativity and the need to show off his ability now that someone was finally paying attention to him, he closed his eyes and focused on the frost drawing on the window, unmindful of the brown eyes staring past him. He gently moved his hands, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and willed his creation to _life_.

He could feel the moment the bunny came alive by the light touch of soft, frosted paws landing in the palms of his cupped hands. It jumped out of the frosted window and into existence, prancing around the room and leaving a trail of frost in its wake.

"Woah!"

The exclamation was filled with wonder and amazement and had him turning back to face the boy he adored so much. Jamie was still wide-eyed, but no longer motionless. He was whooping and laughing in joy. This was _his_ Jamie.

He flashed the boy a blinding smile, and even though he knew his laughter would never be heard, he took part in Jamie's glee and let out a soft, sad laugh of his own as he watched the frost bunny jump around the room, making Jamie happy. In that moment, the wide grin on the boy's face meant everything to him and just for a moment, he forgot his loneliness and solitude. For this, this pure, unadulterated, childish happiness was all him. He, invisible, no-good, mess-everything-up Jack Frost was the cause of this boy's elation. He'd made hope bloom again.

He watched with a fond smile as Jamie spun around, following the frost bunny's every move and trying to grab it with small hands.

Wonderment filled brown orbs as the little creature suddenly burst into tiny snowflakes and Jamie chuckled loudly in surprise as he straightened, mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

"Snow…?" Jamie said in confusion, puzzlement stealing across his young face.

Jack was too distracted by the sudden snowflakes swirling around to hear Jamie's soft voice. The boy had turned around, facing away from him so he missed the small snowflake landing neatly on Jamie's nose and the look of utter confusion and the dawning realization that followed.

It wasn't before the boy gently uttered _his name_ that Jack snapped to attention.

"Jack Frost."

The sudden calling of his name made him freeze as he stared at the boy on the bed in shock and perplexion, not really trusting himself to believe he'd heard right.

"Did he just say—?"

Jamie looked around as if having heard something… It wasn't possible—

"Jack Frost?"

Jack let out a startled breath, taking a step backwards in pure shock, blue eyes wide and bewildered, staring at nothing and everything at the same time. "He said it again!" His movements were jerky and made unconsciously as his mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. "He said—!" He turned to Jamie, thin shoulders raised and head slightly bowed and eyes just as wide as the boy's before him. "You said—!" His voice failed him, his mind incapable of conjuring the needed words and tongue unable to form them. He just stared at the young boy, not quite trusting his own mind, not daring to _hope_ but willing this to be true with all his might. His eyes were fixed on the young boy, watching with bated breath as Jamie slowly turned _towards him_.

He watched as Jamie's eyes widened in shock. He told himself not to hope. That was a dangerous thing. To hope. Such a strong, powerful emotion with the ability to tear and break and leave its victim hollow and gasping for air. He cast away his hope of ever being seen long ago. The hope of belonging however was still a raw, pulsating, gaping wound inside him. It was to be expected really, it was after all only a few hours since it had been so violently ripped away.

Still, he could feel the weak flutter of his heart, his breathing turning rapid and irregular as hope, despite his determination to prevent it, began to take root somewhere deep within his cold core.

Jamie was openly gaping at him now. Could it be—? Was it possible that—?

"Jack Frost."

"That's right!" Jack gasped, utterly mind-blown. His arms shot up to his hair as he unconsciously stepped back, still not completely comprehending, mind swirling almost dizzyingly with all kinds of thoughts.

"B-but that's me!" He stuttered, struggling to find the right words. He took a final step back, hands spreading in confusion and gesturing to himself. "Jack Frost! That's _my_ name!" He turned back to the boy, blue eyes shifting rapidly between Jamie and the carpeted floor. Then as comprehension finally dawned on him, he took a couple of steps closer, face an open book of raw emotions and he could hear his own voice quiver with disbelief and wonder. "You said my name!"

When the boy continued to stare at him, he back-pedaled. He forced the words out, fearing the answer. He really didn't want to burst this bubble of unmitigated joy but he had to know, to make sure that this wonderful moment wasn't all just a dream, another nightmare conjured by his own lonely, yearning mind.

"W-wait, c-can you hear me?" He held his breath, brows furrowing in anticipation, heart stuttering irregularly.

Jamie nodded slowly, mouth still agape and brown eyes huge and filled with wonder.

Jack sucked in a breath, eyes suddenly stinging and vision blurry. He inched closer. "C-Can you… C-can you see me?"

Another nod and his happiness could no longer be contained as his hope rose and exploded. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. _Jamie_ could see him. Jamie could _see_ him. Jamie could see _him_.

His small frame shook with unadulterated mirth and he couldn't contain the full-blown, gleeful smile from splitting his face even if he wanted to. He felt like hollering, the sudden onslaught of emotions too much to handle. He was practically jumping with bliss. "H-He sees me! He sees me!" His tone broke just a little bit, and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears, making his vision blurry but he didn't care because this, this was something he had wanted for a very, _very_ long time.

He flipped backwards onto the table behind him, rangy frame trembling slightly with unrivaled happiness as he laughed joyously.

"You just made it snow!" Jamie said, jumping forward, arms spread wide.

He crouched down, hands raised and a silly grin plastered on his face as he looked at Jamie with barely contained excitement. "I know."

Jamie was almost bouncing with exhilaration. "In my room!"

"I know!" He practically shouted, arms spreading wide. He rose and jumped down from the table, his bare feet making no sound as he hit the carpeted floor. He closed the small gap between them with two quick steps.

"You're real?!"

"Yeah, me—who do you think brings you all the blizzards and the Snowdays?" He paced around the room, gesticulating wildly, eyes wide and voice wavering with enthusiasm and eagerness, and pure, unmitigated happiness. He finally had someone to talk to! Who was just as eager to listen as he was to telling. He couldn't get the words out fast enough! He stopped at the edge of the bed, the huge grin never leaving his face. It felt almost weird, smiling so much. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd held a smile for so long. He wasn't sure he ever had.

A sudden memory came to mind and he rushed to tell it, wanting Jamie to know he had been there all along. "And you remember when you went flying on the sled the other day?"

"That was you?"

"That was me!"

Jamie jumped, arms stretched high above his head, eyes closing as he smiled widely, gap-toothed and everything. "Cool!"

"Right?" He laughed, restless legs moving closer once more. He never took his eyes of Jamie, afraid the boy would vanish if he did.

Jamie suddenly adopted a thoughtful expression. It lasted only a second before his youthful face returned to overjoyed as he excitedly jumped up and down, just as eager as him. "But what about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy! W-Well…I mean what about—?"

"Their real! REAL! Real!" He was bouncing, barely able to contain his energy. If he'd had his staff he was sure he would be levitating or zipping about the room. Catching sight of the discarded stuffed bunny, he quickly bent down and scooped the toy up, holding it with both hands. He met Jamie's warm, brown eyes. "Every one of us," He said more calmly, tone sincere and deep. "…is real."

"I KNEW IT!" Jamie's smile almost split his face, pure happiness radiating from his young face, brown eyes smiling at him with gratitude and kindness.

"Jamie, who are you talking to?"

Jamie shrunk slightly, hands balling against his chest as his eyes swirled towards the closed door. "Uhm…" He turned back to him, eyes wide and biting his lip. Then he smiled sheepishly up at him clearly unsure of what to say.

His heart did a little leap and he felt the insecurity clawing at his throat, but he pushed it aside. Feeling brave, he took a chance and gave Jamie a small, confident smile, one corner lifting more than the other in a lopsided grin. He nodded towards the door, eyes flickering from Jamie to the door and back again.

Jamie answered uncertainly. "Jack Frost?"

As they waited for the reply, Jack could practically hear Jamie's heart beating fast, fluttering like a hummingbird in nervous anticipation as he stared at the door. He smiled warmly, fondly down at his _first believer_.

Jamie's mom only chuckled softly. "O-o-okay."

Jamie turned to him, mouth agape, surprise and shock mixed with complete and total bliss played across his freckled face.

They shared a smile and a short, elated laugh, both boys staring at each other incredulously. Jamie could see him, could talk to him, and he was sure that if he was to reach out and place a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder he wouldn't, for the first time in three centuries, phase through.

And right then, as he laughed _with_ Jamie, he truly believed that everything would turn out all right.

* * *

 **Only a short little thing to hold you all over while I work on the last installment to the 'Three Seasonal Spirits' arc. It's my favorite scene from the movie and I just had to write it. What do you think?**

 **A shout-out to the (holly molly!)** **eight** **amazing people who reviewed the last chapter! You guys are the very best and far too kind!**

 **Thanks for all the new favorites and new followers!**

 **And thanks for reading! I love you guys! Please drop me line!**


	20. Changes Don't Come Easy

**My computer broke up with me yesterday. Our relationship only lasted a year before total hard-disk failure tore us ruthlessly apart. I lost 30 pages… I hate myself for being too lazy to take backups. So now I'm brooding which resulted in this little angsty piece where** **Jack's going through a bit of a rough patch… because I love inner turmoil.**

 **Thanks to all who reviewed, favorited and followed!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: Changes Don't Come Easy**

He still felt lonely sometimes, as if he really didn't belong with the other Guardians of Childhood after all. Even after six years he still distanced himself from them, but it was a precaution more than a need to be alone. One that usually left him a shaking mess if he was to stay away for too long. Being alone frightened him. He was so terribly desperate for company now that being alone physically pained him, and he didn't understand _why_.

There was this constant new fear now too, fear that if he was to be gone for too long…that it would all go away, vanish into thin air like it was never even there to begin with, just like a fleeting, yearning dream. He was so terribly afraid that any day, minute or second now he would wake up to this all being a wonderful, heart-wrenching nightmare.

Still, he kept his distance, even though it pained him to do it. He showed up for meetings of course, and the annual parties and holiday celebrations, but he never took the initiative and actively sought the others out in their respective domains or on their nightly rounds. It could often go weeks, months even without contact.

But he was fine with that. He liked it that way. It was _his_ way of protecting himself. It was the only way he knew how to _survive_. He had always been alone. Just him and the loneliness. He was used to it.

It had all happened so incredibly fast. One minute it had been just him and the wind and the long days of loneliness and solitude and wide grins and fake cheer, the next he had found himself suddenly smack in the middle of an all out war between light and darkness and left reeling and confused when it became apparent that his new comrades in arms hadn't just intended to use him and throw him away once finished with him. It had all been very overwhelming and a bit too much to handle. It still was.

After three hundred years in solitude he was suddenly being offered everything he had ever wished for, yearned for and struggled so hard to get, and even after six years he still didn't know how to deal with it. It was so completely different from the way he'd lived and survived for so very, very long.

It suddenly felt like everything was falling apart and he didn't know what to do. He felt stripped bare, vulnerable and defenseless, like every precaution, every security and self-imposed rule and carefully crafted wall were being torn down and undone without his consent. It was frightening. Having everything that had been constant all his immortal life suddenly changed sent shudders of fear down his spine. The conditioning of three hundred years of solitude was a hard one and he struggled with giving up on things that had become so undeniably him. He didn't want to disregard the sides of himself that made him…well, him.

He had always craved the company of others – humans or spirits, it didn't really matter. It was this new, sudden and desperate need for company _all the time_ that scared him breathless. Ever since joining the Guardians and getting his first believers, attention and company had become a _new_ constant in his _new_ life of Guardianship, and he couldn't be more happy. Now that he knew what he had to lose he was more afraid than ever. It made him seek them out day and night, and he never strayed too far from any of them anymore. Until now, now that he'd seen how dependent he'd become of them constantly being there. He didn't know what abandonment would do to him this time, should he grow closer to the other Guardians. Being all alone and without memories had been hard enough, imagining a life in solitude now after finally having experienced, however brief it might be, acceptance, acknowledgment and maybe even friendship was painful. Excruciating. Devastating.

It was better this way. A clean break.

So he had begun to distance himself, if only to make the pain of abandonment less excruciating should things not work out. He wanted to be prepared and okay with that should it happen, and it was really only a question of when, not if. The only constant thing in his life besides his trusty staff and his long companion the Wind had been the loneliness and the pain after all. Why should that change now?

He withdrew slowly and inconspicuous at first, winter was after all his busy season and he had both hemispheres to look after, spring and autumn he used to rest and restore his energy. Then he had started slowly opting out of meetings, throwing excuse after excuse, after all being the shepherd of winter and bringer of snow-days and fun-times _and_ Guardian of Fun lent itself to a busy schedule. The older Guardians hadn't questioned him, hadn't noticed anything off or different about his actions. And when it had become apparent that he was avoiding them it had been too late to say anything. He was slowly slipping away, falling easily and effortlessly back into old habits and worn footsteps.

He often slipped up though, and sought out the others' company, even when he knew he shouldn't. ' _Like a band-aid Frost. Quick and easy'._ He often told himself, but he could never seem to heed his own advice. Not when forcing himself to stay away had a fear so pure, so raw crawling up his throat, constricting his airways and leaving him gasping for air, heart hammering and sweat freezing to his skin, stomach twisting painfully and limbs trembling.

But he tried. He tried so hard.

He had always found ways to cope on his own, always taken care of himself and needed only himself. Being alone was something he excelled at. He had grown used to it, sometimes even favored it. It was normal. It was familiar. It was safe.

Company had always been a fleeting thing to him, something he used to pin for, yearn for and do everything he could to seek but never gotten to know permanently. It was different now. Or it could be different, he thought. If he let it. If he just let himself dive headfirst into the unknown, he could have it all. Company. Friends. _Family_. But he hesitated. He truly loved his freedom and his independence more than anything. He didn't want to be tied down. He didn't want to feel like he _needed_ anyone. He couldn't. He couldn't need anyone else to be there for him. It had always been him. Just him. And as much as it hurt it was still familiar.

And so he continued to pull away, albeit slowly and reluctantly. The fear of the unknown was too great, the need to be the architect of his own fortune too strong.

He didn't want to be alone anymore.

But it was the only thing he knew how to handle.

He didn't know how to survive any other way.

* * *

 **Review? ^^**


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